


Thirteen Days of Christmas

by Pokimoko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Apocalypse, Barely any present giving for some reason, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Canon-typical language, Canonical Character Death, Casifer, Castiel is a Winchester, Chapter Eight set after 'Hunter Herioci' (8x08), Chapter Eleven set after 'Into The Mystic' (11x11), Chapter Five set after 'Abandon All Hope' (5x10), Chapter Four set after 'Death Takes A Holiday' (4x15), Chapter Nine set after 'Road Trip' (9x10), Chapter One set after 'Phantom Traveler' (1x04), Chapter Seven set after 'Death's Door' (7x10), Chapter Six set after 'Like A Virgin' (6x12), Chapter Ten set after 'The Hunter Games' (10x10), Chapter Thirteen set within Season 13 Context, Chapter Three set after 'A Very Supernatural Christmas' (3x08), Chapter Twelve (Canon-Complaint) set after 'Lotus' (12x08), Chapter Twelve 2.0 (Alternate Post-Lotus Timeline) set within Season 12 Context, Chapter Two set after 'Hunted' (2x10), Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Movies, Christmas in good old Winchester fashion, Demon Deals, Dialogue Heavy, Except for Season 12 and 13, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Foster Father-Son Relationship, Friends as Family, Fun, Gen, Hallucifer, Happy Ending, Holidays, Introspection, Just another Christmas fic, Lots of references to plot, Magic, Mark of Cain, Mostly written a year ago but edited recently, POV Alternating, Platonic Destiel, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Road Trips, Season Based Content, Set throughout series, Sledding, Snow, Snow and Ice, Snowball Fight, Some Humor, Some Plot, Spoilers, Winchester Angst, canonical timeline, for every season, platonic sastiel, some headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokimoko/pseuds/Pokimoko
Summary: Thirteen days for thirteen years, thirteen glimpses of thirteen Christmas Days.From 2005 to 2017, follow the holiday for each year with the Winchesters, and the others who got picked up along the way.





	1. The First Day of Christmas: 2005

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's that time of year again. Y'know what that means: Christmas fics (and also other religious holiday fics, but this specific story is for Christmas so sorry for everyone who doesn't celebrate it :) ). Gloriously fluffy Christmas fics. Well, mostly fluffy. Still a pinch of angst riddled in there too.
> 
> I actually wrote most of this a year ago for Wattpad, and back then there was only 12 seasons so it worked way better in relation to the carol the whole story works around. But then I got an AO3 account and went 'I really want to post this on there'. But I didn't, because posting a Christmas fic in June isn't exactly a great idea. So I waited, and then Season 13 came out, and wow, so far such a great season. Can't wait to write the chapter for that. That'll probably be non-canon given the mid-season finale leaving all the boys in different dimensions which wouldn't exactly make a great Christmas story. But anyway, now the story is the 'Thireen Days of Christmas' instead of the original 'Twelve'. Just means more Supernatural fluff and angst for you people.
> 
> Anyway, this story will progress through the seasons, one day for each season (except 12, which gets a second non-canon chapter because the canon one was way too angsty and I needed all out fluff okay). Expect all the ups and downs of the series to pop in every once and awhile. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Any mistake is my own.

“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean: 866-907-3235. He can help.”

Dean rubbed his face in irritation as he heard the voicemail repeat its message to him for what was probably the hundredth time. Ever since he found out about it a few weeks back from Jerry Panowski, the airport controller, he dialed it up again and again. He kept hearing his dad’s voice, but he never heard him say a word. Dad was just gone, leaving Dean with this stupid message that told him absolutely nothing. He pressed the cancel button, knowing leaving a message of his own would be redundant.

"Son of a bitch. Ever thought of answering your frigging phone," he murmured to no one in particular. He shoved the cell phone back in his pocket and grumbled angrily about his absentee father who wouldn't even say hello. He fell back into the car seat grumpily.

The seat did nothing to relax Dean. Calling his Dad early in the morning didn't seem to be yielding any results, and waking up so damn early was really a bad idea. But his plan relied on it. Sam had already been up when he had left to go to the shops. His health nut of a brother had probably gone out jogging or done something else stupid like that. 9 in the morning was way too early to do anything, and Dean seriously was contemplating how he and Sam were related. Dean exited the Impala, and strode towards his motel room.

Dean came through the door, plastic bags in his hands. As he had thought, Sam was still gone. Had fun could jogging be, really. He dumped the bags on the small round table and began to take the contents out of two of them, the third cast aside from the process. It was smaller, opaque, like a plastic purse bag. He hid it on the chair furthest from the door. Dean was interrupted by his brother returning from wherever he had been, which turned out not to be jogging, given the casual clothes he was wearing and the lack of any ridiculous sweat bands or whatever. He too had a plastic bag in his hands, clinking of bottles audible from within. Sam turned his gaze to Dean, his mouth quirking, causing his dimples to appear. He placed his bag on the table, beside Dean's. If he noticed the other bags, he made no comment about it. He raised his eyebrows at Dean.

"You're up. That's a surprise. What, didn't get a lady last night to keep you company?"

Dean let out a less than amused laugh.  
"Shuddup. Not like you got any last night."

"Dude, your comebacks are terrible. Anyway, I think I got something."

"A case?"

"Yeah. Saw it in the paper when I went to the corner store. Got us some beer while I was there."

Dean nodded appreciatively, his lips jutting out as he did.  
"So?....Salt and burn? Demon? Some fugly monster?"

"Pretty sure it's just a salt and burn. Don't know, but from what the newspaper said, it sounds exactly like a haunting. I'll have to look into it a little more, but we’ve definitely got a case here. "

A smug look bloomed on Dean's face.  
"Are you sure it isn't a case looking into how there must be some supernatural reason that you're such a giant nerd?"

Sam gave his best impression of a unimpressed teenage girl.  
"Seriously, Dean."

He shrugged.  
"You know it's true, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he replied, weary frustration heavy in his tone, "anyway, we should go question the victims." He pulled today's newspaper out his bag and began to read the column. "Yeah, they’re not too far away. Let's go."

 

Dean held up placating hands as his younger brother got ready to head to the door, causing the other to stop and give him a confused look. Dean shook his head.  
"No, dude, we can't. Not today."

"Why not?" 

"Sam, do you really have no idea what today is?" 

"Umm, Sunday?....What's today got to do with anything?"

Dean chuckled, shaking his head in a way that translated to 'how can you be so smart and so oblivious sometimes'. Sam just looked at Dean blankly until the latter finally divulged it to him.

"Sam. It's Christmas Day!"

Sam didn't look the least bit perturbed.  
"So?"

Dean looked absolutely horrified, head retreating backwards as he squinted at his brother.  
"What do you mean 'so'?! Christmas, Sam, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Not particularly, no,” Sam answered easily. He continued when his brother gave him a incredulous look. “Never really been that awesome, Dean."

Dean let that sink in. Sam disliked Christmas. What the hell? Nope, nope, this would not do. Sighing dramatically at Sam's lack of Christmas spirit, he returned to unpacking his bags whilst his brother unpacked his own. Various bottles of beer formed by the brothers’ twin instincts were now on the table, along with packets of food. Dean took on the expression of childlike happiness that good food always gave him.  
"We're having a Christmas feast!"

"Really?” Sam said exasperatedly. “Is this why you got all this food? Seriously, dude, just let me have a beer."

Sam went to take one of the beers but a hand snapped at his own. Dean smiled evilly.

"You'll just have to wait Sam. Let me set everything up first."

“I’m not having a Christmas feast,” Sam stated, crossing his arms.

“Wasn’t a option. We’re doing it.”

Sam mouth turned into a despondent frown and he let out a frustrated breath, but said nothing more about it, finally giving up on the useless squabble. Dean arranged the items on the table, ignoring his younger brother's pouting. Soon, the small table was covered with a small feast: bottles of beer, shop-heated chips and gravy, a small pudding, and salad for Sam the Brachiosaurus. Dean eyed the green stuff suspiciously, like it would suddenly go all Frankenstein on him and attack. A space was left on the table for the container of sliced ham that was in his hand, the box clearly stating that it could be microwaved. There was nothing particularly special on the table but it would do.

Dean went to heat up the ham for the 'Christmas feast', which was as much a feast as a ostrich was a eagle. Christmas had never been the same after his Mom died, and his Dad had pretty much spent the next 22 years after her death being a full-time vagabond that killed monsters, bringing Dean and Sam along for the tumultuous ride. The last real Christmas he remembered was the one before Sam was born. It was blurry, like looking at a memory through an unfocused camera. 

Mum had made a chicken pie (though Dean didn't seem to recall when exactly she made it; it was just kind of there, as if she had just bought it and heated it up, which of course she wouldn't do). Dad had been on his best behaviour that day. There was a Christmas tree in his memories too. If it was an actual tree or not, Dean couldn't remember. Tinsel and lights had encompassed it, baubles scattered around its branches. And on top, one of the clearest things in his memory, was a white angel with fragile, papery wings, high up in its faux heaven, watching over the three beings celebrating Christmas within the house, and the fourth who lay dormant. The words his Mom often said lingered in his mind when he thought of it. Angels are watching over you. He didn’t believe in all that crap, but it was a nice sentiment.

Dean couldn't remember the presents or the weather or anything save for those things. Mum, Dad, pie and a decorated Christmas tree with an angel at the top. Bet any other adult his age had awesome stories of Christmas in their youth, filled with bitten cookies and drunken milk, presents from Santa and other magical Christmas moments. Unfortunately, it's not a gift of childhood everyone could have. He was happy with the one good memory he had, though he wouldn't mind making a few more.

A ding echoed out in the small motel room, bringing him back into the real world. The microwave had done its job. Dean held the container cautiously as he carried it over and placed it in its allocated spot. Steam cascaded out from it in lazy swirls.

"Christmas breakfast served."

"Wow, Dean, you truly are a excellent chef," sarcasm dripping thick like maple syrup on Sam's words. Dean's jaw tightened, providing a displeased glare as response. It was far from heated, and it didn’t last, with the older Winchester soon returning to smiling at his little brother.

They ate the mediocre meal, talking about a range of subjects.Mostly, they talked of ordinary stuff, like people usually did a Christmas. They weren’t normal people, but they could pretend for a bit.

Once the main meal was finished, the pudding was heated up and eaten as well, the breakfast dessert causing Dean to moan like he was having a sexual experience with it, much to his brother's disgust. The feast was soon nothingness, all but some of the salad remaining, it alone saved from Dean’s ravenous hunger. Dean shrugged.

"Not my best meal, but, hey, it was good. You know, for our first real Christmas feast together. Though….I wish Dad could be here. You know, have a proper family dinner."

Dean didn’t miss Sam’s expression darkening at his words. For a moment, he thought an argument was about to occur, and he slouched with displeasure. But then, Sam stopped himself. Dean saw the anger fade away like smoke in the wind. Sam shook his head. He leaned forward and lifted the plastic bag that Dean had tried to hide from him onto the table, effectively changing the topic.

"What's in this, Dean. Your skin mags or something. Don't have to hide them, man; it isn't exactly a secret."

Dean let out an amused chuckle.  
"For once, no, they're not. It's Christmas, Sam. What do you think is in there?"

A knowing smirk.  
"Are you saying you went shopping for presents? By choice?"

"Ha Ha,” Dean intoned. “Do you want it or not?"

Sam raised his hands in surrender.  
"Okay, okay, I'll shut up."

He delved into the bag, trying to keep his eyes closed so it was a surprise, yet peering through his lashing like he thought Dean might’ve put a bear trap in their for some laughs. Dean smiled fondly as he watched Sam pull out the gun he brought him. It was a Taurus Model PT92, polished and regal. It's insert grip was pearl white and the barrel was engraved with elegant scrawling lines. Sam looked at Dean with stunned gratefulness. Dean grinned at his brother's reaction. 

"There's some ammunition in the bag too."

Sam smiled a floppy grin, placing the gun and the bag on the table. He glanced to his duffel, before returning his eyes to Dean.  
"Well, I sort of got you something too. It was for your birthday but hey, if you want to celebrate Christmas, might as well give it to you now."

Sam got up and walked to his bag. He rustled inside and perking up when he found what he was looking for. He lifted up a small, oddly wrapped gift, and wandered back to the table, passing it to Dean. The Older Winchester glared at it suspiciously, wondering what the strange gift could be. It was freaking tiny, so it nothing awesome like a knife or a guitar. He had no clue what it could be. Well, he wouldn’t know unless he opened it. He dug his nails into the paper and pulled. When Dean had pried the wrapping paper off, he was given the opportunity to flaunt his own bitch face. In his hand, a miniature Chevy Impala lay on the palm, sleek and black like it's larger cousin.

"Sam. Really."

A shrug and a smile from the younger Winchester.  
"Merry Christmas?....."

Dean put it on the table and nodded in sarcastic approval.  
"Ah, yeah, thanks. It's the thought that counts. Next year, maybe get an actual present."

"Yeah. I promise....Next year...wait..."  
Sam paused, features scrunching up in fierce concentration like some puzzling thought had starting buzzing in his head, not easing up until realization bled through.

"I see what your doing, Dean. You're making me have a valid reason to celebrate Christmas next year.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Sam huffed, throwing up his arms.  
“Fine, fine! next year. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?"

Dean looked at him with the 'what, no, of course not' face. Mentally, he was fist pumping the air. His plan, weeks in the making, had worked; Sam promised to get him a gift, which would mean another Christmas to share with his brother. Even if Sam wasn't hunting by Christmas time next year, it'd be fun to enjoy a holiday they both had so few of, the few being mediocre at best. John Winchester didn't exactly splurge on them when they were younger.

After the feast, the day went fast. The brothers' Christmas, save for the morning feast, was just like any other day. Research, banter, more research, and a few excerpts of Christmas movies that played on the crappy motel tv. 

The younger brother turned in just after sunset, tired from his early start. Dean stayed at the edge of his bed, phone grasped in hand. He waited till Sam was sleeping as deeply as a hunter could, before he turned it on and clicked through his contacts.

He pressed John's number, and the phone began to ring. Just like before, the recorded voice of his father answered him. This time, when the chance to leave a message came about, he took it.

"Hey. It's Dean. The son who has left you a freak tonne of messages. Y'know, I really wish you would answer. Just once. That’s all I would need. Anyway....I just…... I guess I just wanted to say...Merry Christmas, Dad. Hope you get this..."

He pressed the end button. His dad probably wouldn't even listen to it. But he let it be sent. Might as well. Just like he said to Sam, it was the thought that counted. Dad might never reply, but at least he would know Dean was thinking of him on Christmas. Dean threw the phone onto the end table and fell onto the bed, weary and spent despite the relatively peaceful day. Emotional crap was tiring. He let out a hard breath, letting himself relax, even if only a little. He placed his head onto the pillow, and wrapped himself in the comforter, getting as snug as possible. Sleep eventually persuaded him into oblivion, and soon he was softly snoring the late hours away.

And thus ended the first day of Christmas.


	2. The Second Day of Christmas: 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one long, emotional talking session really. Despite how much Dean 'hates' chick-flick moments, he and Sam do end up having a LOT of strong and helpful emotional talks throughout the series. That or 'you lied to me/we're not brothers/I can't trust you/etc'. I know which one I prefer.
> 
> (Also, to all you Americans, I hope Net Neutrality is restored soon through some miraculous intervention by somewhat intelligent people. I really do.)

Dean woke with a start, the interior of his beloved Impala welcoming him to consciousness. It was light out, the sun high above, indicating it was quite late in the morning. It was cold, as any December day normally is, but not cold enough to warrant snow.

Dean stilled, realising that the car was not moving as it was when he fell asleep, left on the sidelines of a deserted road. This wasn't his major concern though. It was the fact Sam was gone.

His first thought was 'not again', followed by 'where's that dork got to now?'. Sam's stuff was still in the car, quenching Dean's worry that his brother had run off again. Still, Dean knew that his over protectiveness of his little brother wouldn't let him sit and wait for his brother's return like any normal, patient and perfectly stupid person would do. And thus, like the older brother he was, Dean went in search of his Sam.

Trudging just off the road into the leafy ground of the wilderness, Dean made his way towards what could be seen through the trees as a winding creek, not yet frozen by the Winter cold. It trickled through the vegetation, heading in the opposite direction the brothers had been driving towards and veering off in an unseeable direction. The dead leaves crunched under the Winchester's shoes as he called for the other, using the nickname the younger so seemingly despised.

"Right here, Dean."

Dean headed in the direction of the sullen voice, and soon found the unmissable giant of a man that was his brother sitting on the shore of the creek, throwing pebbles forcefully into it. None of them skipped across the thin strip of water, all exploding in a spray of shining white. Sam wasn’t throwing them to watch them skip anyway. 

Dean plonked down beside his brother and decided to pick up his own stone, smooth and round. With a skilled flick, he twirled it onto the water's surface where it skipped along until it reached the other side, crashing into the opposite shore. Sam made no comment, but refrained from tossing the small pebble in his hand, rolling it in his palm instead. A thoughtful look was on his face as he stared at the flowing creek.

Dean was a 'no chick-flick moments, no worries' kind of guy (despite the fact he actually really liked chick-flicks, but don't tell anyone that because it would cause most certain death), but he could see that Sam was definitely having some sort of emotional moment, and so he decided to break his rule and attempt 'talking about it' (internal shudder).

"Hey, what's up?"

Sam turned away, a sigh passing through his lips.

"Too much, man."

Dean rolled his eyes.  
"Wanna elaborate?"

A glare, then a sarcastic reply.  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that Ava disappeared and there are other Special Children out there. And of course what you said the other day: that you'll either have to ‘save me or kill me’. So yeah, not much."

Dean, like always when caught in an emotional situation, replied with humour.  
"Not planning on running away again, are you Sammy? Don't want to have to find your sulking ass again."

"Dean, I'm serious. Don't you think that's all a little worrying."

The older Winchester looked at his little brother, whose eyes were like that of a kicked puppy. Dean paused from replying with another joking statement when he saw those damn eyes. Ah, crap, he couldn’t say no to them. Dean huffed, finally dropping his joking mask.

"Yeah, I get it, those are all big deals. But you can't let it consume you man. Hell, look at me. I manage."

"Well, I'm not like you. I'm a freak."

A beat of silence followed, only the sound of the soothing water permeating the air. Sam was looking out distantly. He knew he had always been different, impure. Now he knew it to be certain. Dean wouldn't hear it though.

"Sam. Listen to me. You're not some dickhead demon's bitch. And we're definitely not destiny's bitch. Screw it. All of it. I don't care what happens tomorrow. And if you do, sulking won't help. Not to sound unsympathetic, little brother, but lighten up. It's Christmas, for God's sakes."

Sam scrunched his face up in confusion.  
"It is?"

His brother let out a gruff laugh.  
"Wow, you'd think you would be that kind of person who would be the yuletide moose, all green and red sweaters and nutmeg moustaches. How do you keep forgetting?"

"Guess with all that's going on, it slipped my mind,” Sam said with a shrug. He threw another rock into the creek, but this time it skipped, reaching the shore just as Dean’s had.

"Well at least I kept my part of the promise. I got something for you back in the car."

"Hey, who said I forgot to get you a present,” the younger Winchester asked, a exaggerated look of offense. 

"Your stupid face did,” Dean quipped, smirking.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean went to ruffle his brother’s hair affectionately, but the taller man darted his head away with a chuckle. Dean shuffled over to try again. Sam batted at his brother attempts with a wide grin, his past sorror forgotten for the moment. The sound of crunching leaves, however, interrupted the brothers' bonding session. Their hunter instincts kicked in and they clicked into fighting stance, gun firm in their hands and their eyes hard with focus. But it wasn't a werewolf, vampire, demon or any other supernatural son of a bitch that was lurking in the wilderness.

Just on the opposite side of the creek, a deer was grazing. It was young, white spots scattered like childish stars of it’s brown belt. It moved with exceptional grace as it nuzzled at the ground, searching for grass amongst the dead leaves. The brothers relaxed, realising there was no present danger. The deer raised his head and looked at the two humans that had entered it's home. It's deep brown eyes watched them with a mystic otherness. It stared at them, it's nose twitching with curiosity.

Dean nudged his brother.  
"Look, it's Rudolph."

"Dude, Rudolph was a reindeer."

Dean look at his brother with mockful outrage.  
"You really know how to dampen a man's Christmas spirit."

The deer blinked at them, and shook its head. It almost look annoyed, and Dean could understand why. Sam really needed some Christmas spirit and stat. The deer leaped off, the crackles of the fallen leaves following it, fading as it disappeared into the distance.

Sam smiled at his brother, who was watching it go. Sam couldn’t believe the self-proclaimed ‘tough guy’ had just gone all Dr. Phil on him. Well, as close as Dean ‘Emotional Chitchat is Bullcrap’ Winchester could manage anyway. But Sam wouldn’t have it any other way. No matter what, Dean always knew how to make him smile. He wanted to thank him for consoling him, for being his Yoda when the dark side was on the horizon. For just being there. He wanted to thank him for a whole lot of things. And so, in true Winchester fashion, he said it with few words.

"Thanks man."

Dean smirked, and finally managed to successfully ruffle Sam’s mane of hair.  
"No problem. Just don't make a habit of it. I'm not your therapist."

"You would probably make for a pretty crappy therapist,” Sam commented in mild irritation as he smooted down his hair.

Dean pursed his lips together as he nodded, faux thoughtfulness on his face.  
"Can't argue with that. Wanna head back?"

Sam nodded, and the two made their way back to the lonely black car. Sam sat in his designated seat as Dean got something from the back. When he plonked back into the driver's seat, he was holding a paper bag. He passed it to Sam who accepted it. 

A small card was attached to the bags handle, a picture of a Christmas tree on the front, minimalist white on red. Inside, in scrawling writing, words from Dean were written, surrounding the bold text of the cards original message:

 

Sammy,  
My idiot brother and King of the Nerds

MERRY CHRISTMAS

-Dean

 

Sam chuckled as he read it. ‘Course Dean wouldn't write a normal message. He placed his hand into the bag, finding a hard, metallic object. He pulled it up and out of the bag and laughed when he saw it. It was tiara, silver and glimmering, fake diamonds clichély adorning the peaks.

"For my little princess," Dean cooed jokingly. Sam scoffed.

"Dean, I know you're getting kicks out of this but I'm not the one who probably went into a jewelry store to buy this."

Whatever remark Dean had prepared escaped him. He crossed his arms and took on a grumpy exterior like any mature adult would do.  
"It was from a toy store."

"Yes, obviously,” Sam said, nodding skeptically. “Anyway, thanks."

"No problem, princess."

Sam snickered, before placing the tiara in the back. Unfortunately, Dean was correct about Sam not having a present for his brother, though he had a good idea for one. The gift would eventually come to fruition as a ring, something Dean would keep for many years, mostly for the fact it was from his brother and it was real great for opening beers, not for the aesthetic appeal. 

Dean started the engine, and it roared proudly into the morning silence. Dean and Sam made themselves as comfortable as possible, hoping to avoid sore backs and necks. It was still a long drive until they reached the location of their next case. Dean smoothly pulled the Impala from off the side of the road and began the near daylong trip down the long pitch-black roads of America. The rest of that Christmas was spent in the car with rock songs playing too loudly, and their off-key voices singing all the louder. The day passed as fast as the landscapes they travelled through, the earlier chick-flick moment long forgotten. They were still in the car when night fell.

And thus ended the second day of Christmas.


	3. The Third Day of Christmas: 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter here, but then again, this Season actually had a Christmas episode, so my job was already done for me.

Saying this Christmas was just like any other person's Christmas would be like saying Dean and Sam were just normal everyday kind of people. Nearly being eaten by two crazed pagan gods wasn't exactly the definition of a 'Merry Christmas'. Unless you were a Winchester.

Sam and Dean had bandaged their wounds, and Sam had healed some of his scars brought about by Christmases long ago. He knew that his brother was trying to make the holiday special. Especially this one. Dean's last two attempts weren't exactly 'photo worthy', but they had been better than many he had before. 

The television flashed. Sam pretended to watch the game, but he was really wasn't. Dean was captivated, not noticing his brother eyes on him. He looked like he was wholeheartedly enjoying what was on the screen, like it best damn thing he had ever seen. But Sam was perceptive, and he could easily see the façade for what it was: Dean was trying to pretend that this wasn't his final Christmas, and that he wasn't going to die.

But he was. He was going to die and Sam was going to have to live without him. Christmas would soon be just another day without Dean.

Tears threatened to break free. Two different hells were what waited for both the brothers, and this was Sam's last Christmas before that happened.

Dean seemed to finally sense his brother's headlight stare that shined on him, and its watery film.

"You 'kay?"

Sam smiled.  
"Yeah. It's just my nail. Hurts like H...," the word he was going to use fell away, and he replaced it with a less heavy phrase,"...like a bitch."

Dean was oblivious to Sam's screw up.  
"Yeah, sorry about that man. It'll grow back...eventually."

"...yeah."

Dean returned to watching the game. Sam did as well, but he wasn't taking any of it in.

This was the worst feeling. They were running out of time, and here they were drinking (extremely alcoholic) nutmeg and watching sport like they actually cared about it. Sam hated this, just sitting and letting valuable moments pass when they could be trying stop Dean from going to Hell. He wanted to get out there and find some demon who would help him get the contract, and then tear the damn thing to pieces. Ruby came to mind, but he still didn't fully trust her. But if she had a way to kill Lilith, then he was all ears.

Sam felt the weight of time pushing down on him, like every tick was his most hated foe. He could almost hear the clock running down in his head, heading towards the deadline of blood and death. But, no matter how much it scratched and clung like a feral animal to his every thought, he knew it would be worse for Dean. Fire and brimstone must be heavy on his mind.

Sam was deep in thought when Dean addressed him, in that knowing, brotherly kind of way.  
"I know what you're thinking Sam, and I know it sucks. Me, Hell, yeah…..it’s crap. It’s frickin’ screwed up. But if you keep thinking about it, the last Christmas you'll ever have with me will just be darkened by what you're feeling right now. I know you’re scared man…..So am I. It's hard. Please, let me have this Christmas. Let yourself have this Christmas. That's all I ask, man."

If Dean’s eyes were teary, neither one mentioned it.

Sam smiled, a weak and sad line on his face.  
"I don't want to lose this. I...I don’t want to lose you."

Dean let out a deep sigh and his shoulders sagged. He said nothing for a moment, and Sam squirmed in his seat, unsure if what he just said had sent Dean down to the dark depths of his mind. But Dean, strong, resilient, optimistic Dean, looked at his younger brother with a smile that was only a little bit forced, eyes gleaming with determination.  
"Hopefully you won't have to, Sammy. But if it our last Christmas together, we should try make it a good as it can be. Well, ignoring that whole thing with those fudging Christma-holics. There’s such thing as too much Christmas spirit. You should be glad I don’t push it that hard.” 

Dean chuckled, and Sam, despite his heavy heart, joined in with sincere amusement. Dean perked up at that, pleased to have made his brother laugh. He nodded his head to the TV, hoping to keep direct focus away from himself before the laughter could peter out awkwardly.  
“Come on, the game’s nearly finished."

Sam nodded, swallowing the lump that still lingered like a parasite in his throat.  
"Okay."

They watched the end of the game, and when it ended, they retired to their beds. This Christmas had been painful, in more ways than one. It was quite a pathetic Christmas really, but then again, it wasn’t their worse. Still, Dean wished it wasn't his last. 

The night deepened as they fell into fitful sleeps. Sam dreamed of his brother's empty eyes, and Dean dreamed of darkness and fire.

And thus ended the third day of Christmas.


	4. The Fourth Day of Christmas: 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is one of the more angsty chapters I wrote for this. Though, the whole 4th season was filled with angst, especially in relation to Dean and Sam's brotherly bond. Then again, that comes under fire quite a bit throughout the series. I overall prefer when they're not angry at each other, and they are happy with each other. It's so much nicer to see.
> 
> Anyway, just heads up, I in no way hate Sam, even if I didn't approve of many of his actions during the 4th season. I have forgiven him because he was being manipulated, so what I've written is no way a jab at Sam. It's merely a look at his thoughts based on what I think was going through his head back then. Dean's as well, of course. But his are most on the depressing side of things.
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy this Hellish chapter.

Two days. Two days since Pamela got killed. Two days the brothers’ were in grief and guilt. Her blank eyes hadn't changed in her death, only the absence of breath telling them she had passed. They had called Bobby (the real one) and he and the boys had taken her body from the bloodied room. 

The third day's sun had begun to rise over the horizon, painting the world a gold it didn’t quite deserve. Unfortunately, this third day coincided with Christmas, a holiday far from the Winchesters' mind. It was also the day before Pamela's funeral was to take place, and the younger brother dreaded it was to be the older's breaking point.

Sam watched his brother's restless, tormented sleep. Whatever blackened his mind was beyond Sam's knowledge, but he was sure it was Hell that was burning in Dean's dreams. Sam could see his brother losing his resolve each day. Dean wasn't strong enough, not anymore.

Sam knew that he would have to be the strong one. He would be the one to kill Lilith and the one to stop the apocalypse from happening. He would the one to save everyone.

Dean was unaware of his brother's prideful thoughts when he awoke, drenched in a cold sweat. His first thought was not about Christmas, nor Pamela. It was of alcohol. He didn't spare a glance to his brother as he headed straight to the fridge and grabbed a beer. It was cold, nothing like the fire that haunted his dreams and his every waking moment. He opened it and allowed the liquor to flow down his throat in hopes it would cloud his mind. He was tired of death, tired of this weight on his shoulders. He was just tired. Of everything, really. Why would God think he could deal with all this? He was broken. A shattered reflection of his past self, mishapedly stuck together in an attempt to be recognised by those he loved as the one and only Dean Winchester. He could barely keep that façade up, let alone stop the 66 Seals from being broken. 

Being tired was all he felt really anymore. Sam would never understand how much living every day was a struggle. Hopefully he never would. Dean didn’t want Sam having to live like he was. He plunked himself on his bed and drank his beer, his drawn face hidden from Sam, who was eyeing his movements.

The brother's were seperate in the close quarters, in more ways than one, though both had poison running in their veins. The younger with the demonic addiction that muddied his blood, and the older with alcohol to numb his pain.

Dean took one long and final draught of the beer, and placed the finish bottle on the ground beside him. Sam watched with a detached concern.  
"Hey man."

A grunt was his answer. It was better than what he expected and so he pressed further.  
"How are you doing, Dean?"

The elder brother's head fell in his hands and he remained silent for a bit, just staring at the ground. Sam said nothing either; he needed to be patient. Dean flicked his eyes to Sam, seeing the younger man staring at him, awaiting an answer. He rubbed a hand down his face and breathed a rattling sigh, finally conceding to his brother's need to talk.  
"Sam, I just....I'm sick of this. She didn't have to die. We can't keep bringing people into this….We're poisonous."

Sam's face fell into that of worry. His brother words spoke of a darkened mind and self-hatred. Dean couldn’t deal with the strain anymore. Sam knew only he could bear it now. Yes, he would have to be the strong one. He tried to be as understanding as he could.  
"It was her choice to make. It doesn't fall on our shoulders."

"But it does, Sam!" Dean yelled as he turned to face his brother, a hard scowl dirtening his lips.  
"We can't just ignore the fact that we asked her to come. That we sent her to her death!"

"We also can't ignore the fact it was the angels that asked us to come!” Sam shouted back, throwing his hands up in frustration. Why was Dean making this so hard? Sam huffed out an annoyed sigh that trailed out tiredly as he sobered up from his anger. Arguing wouldn’t work. He gave Dean a sympathetic look. “If you want to blame anyone, blame them."

Sam expected anger, hatred from Dean towards the feathered assholes. Instead, despondency was the elder brother's response.

"Well, they didn't force our hand. They didn't force us to save the seal or call Pamela. Castiel and those other dicks didn't kill Pamela. It's on us, man."

"Dean, you don't need anymore guilt,” Sam persuaded desperately.

"Well, it seems I've gotta compensate for your lack of it!" Dean snapped back.

Sam molded his face into one of horror.  
"How could you think that?"

"I can think so many things about you right now."

Sam sucked in his lips and looked away. He wasn’t stupid. He could read between the lines of Dean's statement. Dean didn’t have to even say it. Sam had seen it in his eyes for the last few weeks, and it had ripped at their bond silently as they willingly withdrew from each other, their ideas like oil and water when they used to blood. 

‘I don't trust you anymore.’ 

It repeated like a mantra in his head. He couldn’t tell if it was his subconscious warning him to stop or if it was it telling him he couldn’t rely on someone who didn’t believe in what he was doing. He was going to kill Lilith. He was going to stop all of this. Sacrifices had to be made. Sam wish he could say something to quell his brother's distrust. He wished he could stop lying. But he had come to far to stop now.

Dean took his silence as further proof that his brother wasn't being honest. What had happened to Sam to make him so distant? What happened to them being brothers? The rift between them had grown other the last months, and only time would tell if it was irreparable. Dean didn’t think it would be though. Too much had happened, permanent tears in their relationship. He didn’t think they’d ever have that same bond ever again. 

Sam watched his brother fall back into his mind. The youngest Winchester knew that his words of comfort would do no good, so he fell back onto something he knew his brother loved.

"It's Christmas."

Dean's eyes focused, and his eyes flicked to the motel alarm clock, where 12-25-08 was glowing. He hummed with slight interest, though nothing akin to his joy of previous Christmases.

"So it is. Don't think there's much to celebrate this year. Even the angel at the top of tree isn't up to standards."

Sam smiled minutely, and though it was tinged with bitterness, there was some humour there.  
"You're right about that. They don't even have wings. Might as well put a Ken doll up on the tree because that seems to be a better representation of angels at this point."

Dean's mouth twitched up as he breathed a quiet laugh.  
"Junkless puppets who need some personality. Yeah, definitely Ken dolls."

That was enough to make Sam's heart lift a little. Maybe his brother wasn't lost entirely. Maybe there was hope yet that lingered in his brother’s broken soul. 

Dean only smiled once that Christmas. Sam, nevertheless, was glad it was because of him. He knew there wasn’t much to smile about that Christmas anyway. The funeral loomed over the entire day, darkening their Christmas. They spent most of the day preparing for the next. The day was far from 'merry'. Alcohol replaced joy, and distrust and lies replaced the bond of the two brothers.

An angel watched from the distance with growing interest as his charges spent the day planning Pamela's funeral. The brothers’ didn't notice the curious bystander, his trenchcoated vessel hiding the celestial power and growing doubt that squirmed beneath the skin. His rebellious wings wouldn't let him leave. So he stayed, ignoring the call of the Host for as long as it was deemed acceptable. The Winchesters’ were entirely unaware of him and what was to come in following weeks. To say this Christmas was joyous would be another lie within the many the Winchester's were already telling. This Christmas would be forgotten in the face of what was to come, just another dark day, another day that went without much happiness. The night fell, finally letting the brothers sleep, their only escape from the tension between them, and from the waking world and its problems. Neither had a peaceful sleep.

And thus ended the fourth day of Christmas.


	5. The Fifth Day of Christmas: 2009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the best seasons deserves one of longer, happier and overall more Christmasy chapters. This is one of my favourites.  
> And you can tell how much I adore Cas and Dean's bond when you read this chapter. It basically revolves around it. 
> 
> Enjoy.

For the first time in a long time, Dean's sleep was dreamless. No Lucifer, no Hell and no fiery explosions. It was nice. He woke slowly, nuzzling into the cushion and humming into the comfortable bed, 'cause why the hell not enjoy a luxury for what it was. Bobby’s house had better beds than any motel could ever dream of. He was thankful he was in the room by himself because he knew he must look like such a girl, and Sam didn't need any more ammunition for teasing.

He rolled over onto his back, peering ever so slightly out through his eyelids. His tired mind ignored the figure at the foot of his bed. Dean went to fall back asleep when he finally connected the puzzle pieces. He sat up sharply, simultaneously pulling the gun from under his pillow and aiming it at the figure. He quickly discovered it was a pointless task.

Castiel canted his head to the side, a perplexed expression upon his face.  
"Dean. That is not necessary."

Dean lowered his gun.  
"Damn right it's necessary, Cas. Stop watching me sleep. It's freakin’ paedophilic."

The angel squinted his eyes.  
"I am older than the Earth, and therefore all of humanity. To me, you are a child."

Dean's face scrunched up in concerned disgust.  
"Cas, no. Don't accept that title and don't call me a child. It's just weird."

Castiel nodded slowly, like a student who only understood the numbers and not the equation.  
"Yes, okay. I will stop.”

There was a beat of silence, and Dean frowned. Why was Cas on his bed anyway? The angel didn’t usually give him a wake up call. Well, except those few times Dean awoke because he felt Cas’ eyes on him, because it seemed the angel really like watching not only Dean, but people in general, sleep. Hell, even Sam had mentioned it to Dean a few times, though the younger Winchester said he actually found it comforting in a way. Dean wasn’t sure what to think about it. It had a nice sentiment, sure, Cas being his guardian and all, but people watching other people sleep was just a no-no. 

Castiel fidgeted as the silence lingered. Dean blinked at that. Cas never fidgeted. He was a bloody statue most of the time. Dean raised a questioning eyebrow and Cas frowned at it, taking a moment to get what the elder Winchester was insinuating. Castiel squirmed, unsure how to word this without giving away too much.

“Uh, your brother has a surprise for you. I have been told not to discuss it."

"Oh really,” Dean drawled, grinning. “What is it?"

"I can't-"

"C’mon Cas. You can tell me." Dean’s words were sickly sweet, a 'tell me your secrets' voice he often used on victims from their cases. Castiel, terrible liar that he was, was having a difficult time withholding the information. He looked like a deer stuck in headlights. It was hilarious, and Dean bit his lip to stifle any chuckle that threaten to spill from his lips. He didn’t want to hurt the angel's feelings by laughing at his dilemma. Castiel didn’t seem to notice Dean’s own dilemma, face becoming stern and serious.

"Dean. I promised not to tell. We swore with our pinky fingers. I vowed to keep my word, and I will not break that vow."

The way Castiel said it like it was gospel made Dean finally crack, and Cas scowled at him as the Winchester laughed.

When Dean had found the ability to stop, he gave Cas a look of fake seriousness.  
"Yes, of course. But only because you made a pinky promise with my little brother." Dean was never going to let Sam live that down.

"They are downstairs,” Castiel stated, not seeming to realise Dean was being sarcastic. Dean nodded, thankful he at least knew where to look for the ‘surprise’. He’d been close to thinking Sam had painted the Impala hot pink so to surprise his older brother. Dean almost shuddered at the thought. Poor Baby, that would be horrible. He hoped Sam would never try that. He shook the thought away. He looked over to see Castiel playing the comforter through his fingers. 

Dean needed to get ready, and though he could tolerate Cas watching him as he slept, he would not have the angel watch him get changed. That would be all kinds of awkward. Dean cleared his throat loudly, hoping to get Cas’ attention. The result was instant, but not in the way Dean had intended.

“Are you feeling unwell, Dean?” Cas asked with absolute concern. His hand twitched on reflex, ready to heal with the powers he no longer could use. 

Dean gave him a flat look. Castiel paused, studying the expression earnestly. The angel still made no move to leave. Dean rolled his eyes and looked away before their interaction could devolve into a staring contest. He wiped his hand down his face in exasperation.

"Cas, I gotta get ready. You can go. I'll meet you at the 'surprise'."

Cas made a soft ‘oh’, before nodding conspiratorially.  
"Yes. The ‘surprise’." 

Dean received the most forced wink he’d ever seen in his whole life, before the rustle of feathers echoed in the room and he was once again alone. 

Dean did his morning routine, pondering what exactly the surprise was. Had they found another way to kill the Devil that would actually kill the Devil? That sounded amazing and he would be extremely happy to hear about it. Get some well deserved vengeance for Jo and Ellen. He clenched his fist hard at his side at the thought of their pointless death. It’d only been about a month since they’d died. It still hurt, just like every other death still hurt. But he could kill the person that’d lead to their deaths. That raging hate helped to distract him from his own hurt. He had a purpose. He could make it til the end as long as that lasted. He took a breath before he left the room, leaving behind as much of the baggage of his mind as he could. He wouldn’t be able to focus when his emotions were all over the show.

Dean wandered down the hallway, hearing distant whispering wafting up from downstairs. He heard them quieten suddenly when he reached the top of the staircase. He stopped for a moment, letting them stew in their impatient juices before finally walking down the staircase. He entered the living room and was....well not surprised by the 'surprise' per se. More surprised by who had planned the surprise.

Before him, Mr. 'What's So Good About Christmas' was wearing a decorative sweater and antlers, and Mr. 'I Hate Pretty Much Everything' had a santa hat on, his wheelchair covered with tinsel. The table had a mishmash of foods, and nearby a small Christmas tree was situated in the corner, ready to be decorated.

"Merry Christmas!," they chorused, save for Castiel, who looked out of place with his trench coat and stoic appearance. He seemed to realize he had missed whatever the cue was, his stance becoming more awkward as he tried to follow along. Dean barely noticed anyway, eyes wandering around the room. Decorations a plenty were scattered across the door frames and walls, greens and reds and silvers gracing the usually lacklustre walls of the house interior designers’ worldwide had nightmares about. Dean gave an approving nod.

"Wow, guys. Now this is Christmas!"

Sam walked over to his brother and gave him a hug.  
"My dignity for your happiness. Good exchange?"

Dean pulled out of the hug, holding the taller brother at arm's length.  
"Oh, definitely. Best gift ever."

Dean turned to the dejected tree in the corner.  
"Though the tree could use some work."

"That's the plan. Family tree decorating,” Sam stated.

Dean smiled widely.  
"Hell yeah! Give me the tinsel."

"I'm not helping you idjits,” Bobby interjected grumpily. “I'll go check on the turkey. You go pretty up the twig."

"You lose old man."

Bobby huffed with half-hearted annoyance and wheeled off into the kitchen. Dean found the tinsel and baubles in a box blatantly labeled 'DECORATIONS' and began to throw it on the tree as Sam did the lights. Soon, the gangly tree was decorated. It wasn't amazing, but it would do. It only needed one more thing. Something right at the top.

Dean pulled a papery angel from it's bed within the box. It was like the one he remembered from his last Christmas with Mom. This one was less fragile, it's wings more feathery. It had a copper-coloured halo on its head, and copper wings unfurling from it’s back. Dean could feel the wires under the paper skin, holding it together, and keeping its tattered dress from falling apart. It was actually a rather pretty ornament, if you ignored how crinkled its dress was or how bent it’s halo looked.

Dean held it in his hands. How ironic. The Apocalypse was pelting down on them, and its spotlight show was a death match between two dick archangels, which was just on the horizon if they didn’t stop it, and here he was admiring an angel decoration. Even he found that funny. Dean looked to the real life angel and held the papery one towards him.

"Would you do the honor of topping the tree?"

Cas gazed at it with blue eyes, studying it. He seemed to deem it acceptable, taking the sacred angel into his hand, staring at it with childlike wonder. He brushed the feathery wings with loving care and fondness. Dean could almost imagine Cas’ wings quirking in appreciation for the little paper imitation. Without a word, he wandered to the tree and placed the angel on top. Even though it had no visible eyes, it almost felt like it was gazing at them. Sam nudged Dean fondly.

"Two angels to watch over us, huh."

Cas' head was turned away from the boys, so they could not see the faint smile on his face.

"Turkey's done," Bobby called from the kitchen. The brothers and their angel gathered in the kitchen with Bobby. The turkey steamed on the table, it's scent delectable.

"Awesome," commented the oldest Winchester. Castiel eyes narrowed at it, not sure if he should try it or not. Sam just smiled at his brother and Cas' reactions. His 'surprise' was turning out to be beneficial for everyone, helping them all forget about the Apocalypse, Jo and Ellen, and Lucifer for a while.

Christmas, for the first time in many years, truly felt like Christmas. Crackers were present, much to the humour of the humans, as all three were laughing as Cas' studied the 'strange devices'. All three were pleasantly surprised when Cas won every game with them. He soon had amassed a small mountain of paper crowns, silly jokes and toys, all of which perplexed the angel, especially the jokes. One had read ‘How many ears has Captain Kirk got?: Three: the left ear, the right ear, and the final front ear’, which was both the cause of Dean's laughter and Cas' befuddlement.

The food was some of the best they had ever had, the turkey being pretty much the first cooked meal the brothers had in years, and the first for the angel ever.

Christmas carols were also played, much to the displeasure of Dean, his one hatred of Christmas. Give him rock anyday. Castiel on the other hand was fond of the carols, looking almost smug when he heard them. Dean and Sam suspected it was the fact almost all of them mentioned angels.

No gifts were given; the Apocalypse only gave them so much time to do other stuff, and shopping wasn't one of them. Not like any of them enjoyed it anyway. The gift was that it was one of those days to let them escape the pressures of everything. The calm before the storm.

When the evening neared, the men and the angel sat around the small television. Either out of irony, or admiration of the film, Sam chose ‘It's A Wonderful Life’. All of them enjoyed it, though the oldest brother would never admit it, nor would he admit the similarities he noticed that George Bailey and Clarence friendship had with his and Cas'.

Bobby and Sam fell asleep as it neared its end, the latter's head resting on his brother. Castiel of course didn't sleep and was watching the movie avidly, along with Dean, whose eyes were growing heavier with each moment. He let out a yawn as the girl on the screen said 'everytime a bell rings, an angel gets its wings' . The word angel caused him to glance at the real one, who was seated on the arm of the couch with that expression of confusion that always seemed present.

"This movie was incorrect. Angels do not get wings due to the sound of a bell. We are created with them."

Dean rolled his eyes, though unlike before, this was born from fondness.  
"Cas, it's not like they asked the god squad for the specifics. It's a movie anyways; it's bound to get some things wrong."

"I guess that is true," Castiel said thoughtfully. He let a small, not-quite-there smile onto his face, and Dean felt a thrill of joy of having made the stoic angel smile, even if was barely noticable. It was an accomplishment in itself to have Cas show any expression other than confusion or irritation.

Castiel turned his body to face the elder Winchester, that almost smile still present on his face. "Thank you Dean. This Christmas, despite not historically being Jesus' birthday, was educational and also a pleasant experience."

"Sam already gave me that whole spiel about Jesus…..But yeah, man, thanks to you too. I'd say best Christmas so far." ‘Cause it was, without a doubt. 

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement, and the hint of a smile grew in size, causing Cas’ eyes to wrinkle just a little.  
"It was my pleasure to be present.” His smile shifted into a concerned frown when Dean yawned loudly. “I believe you should sleep. You seem weary."

Dean head by now felt like lead. He was just happy he’d seen Cas really smile. Now he could surrender to his tiredness.  
"Mhmm, okay. Night."

 

Before he closed his eyes, he saw Cas swing his head away, actively avoiding glancing at Dean, looking self-conscious. It was that expression he got when he didn’t know if what he was doing was deemed ‘correct’ by societal standards. Which was a lot. Right now, it seemed out of place, and Dean wasn’t sure what was making the angel so tentative.

“What’s wrong?” the human mumbled. 

Castiel flicked a hesitant look to his ward.  
"You said I should avoid being paedophilic. Do you want me to go?"

Dean laughed drowsily. Of course Cas would take that advice so seriously, and to such a degree as to think he had to leave the house to make the older Winchester comfortable when he was sleeping. Dean would never say it, but he liked the angel hanging around. It felt right. He had less nightmares when he was around, and generally felt happier. Dean couldn't imagine a life without Cas anymore. The angel, along with Sam and Bobby, were his family.  
"Nah man, it's fine. You're our Christmas guardian angel...."

And with that, he was out like a light. Castiel watched his friend fall into the depths of sleep, listening to his breath as it deepened to the pace of the others. He stood, quiet, and grabbed a blanket from a nearby shelf. He placed it over the brothers, obtaining another for Bobby. If he knew more about Christmas culture, he might have laughed at how the two blankets - one red and one green - made up the colour scheme of the holiday. Castiel had never celebrated Christmas, though he had been there for its origin. It was a human holiday, but today made him realise how much he’d been missing out on by not joining in humanities festivities. It was truly quite wonderful. Sadly, it was to come to an end. Tomorrow would be very different than today. But, as long as he had left to live, Castiel would remember this Christmas, even if it was to be his first and last.

And really, he was fine with that. At least he had this Christmas with Bobby and the Winchesters, in a time of such woe. The angel guardian, along with his papery imitation, watched over the sleeping humans as the Christmas of 2009 ended, just as every Christmas before has done and every Christmas in future will do. It is just an ordinary day in the scheme of things after all.

And thus ended the fifth day of Christmas.


	6. The Sixth Day of Christmas: 2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Sam in this chapter. And as always, lots of Cas. I just really love Cas. I know he did a lot of crappy stuff in Season 6, but just like Sam in Season 4, it was a matter of circumstances that caused him to make those choices. I don't hate either of them for making those decisions, because in the context, it was the one they thought was the right one. Besides, we don't see enough of Cas and Sam 's friendship in my opinion. Those geeks just complement each other. Though, I love Dean and Cas' bond as well. Really, I just love the whole Team Free Will dynamic. It's great.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is one parts fluff and one parts angst. So, overall, it's bittersweet.

Sam ate his breakfast greedily, completely ignoring his lack of table manners. According to Bobby, Cas and Dean, Sam hadn't eaten anything for ages. He deserved to eat like a pig now he had his soul back. Dean hadn't woken just yet to make any snarky comments, and Sam thanked the world for that Christmas gift.

The snow was falling lightly outside, a small layer of white on the earthy ground. The ramshackle cars that littered Bobby's backyard each had icy sweater. Sam hadn't seen a white Christmas since the one before Dean went to Hell, and that wasn't exactly a wonderful memory.

The younger Winchester continued to gaze out to the falling snow, feeling the need for hot cocoa to accompany the Christmasy weather. Sam sighed softly; he seemed to be adopting a Christmas spirit akin to his brother's. Sam would never admit that aloud, and never to his brother. Dean would be having a 'I told you Christmas is awesome' party if he ever found out. Footsteps interrupted Sam’s thoughts before he could imagine that horrible event. Sam looked over in time to see Bobby stroll in, a chunky and ancient looking book in his hands.

"Mornin' Sam," he said without so much as a glance to said person. Sam guessed Bobby was still bitter about what his soulless self had done. Nearly being murdered by someone isn't exactly an easily forgiven thing. Sam would just have to try his hardest to get the grump to warm up to him again. It wouldn’t be too hard, because Bobby, like Dean, was actually a real big softy.

Bobby passed him and went to the living room, taking a seat at his desk. He placed the book open on it, and began leafing through the pages, eyes flicking to and fro as he skim read the words. Sam could see from his seat in the kitchen that detailed pictures were inked on the pages. He could see a dragon, extremely different from the ones they had encountered the other day. Sam felt curiosity bubble under his skin, and once he’d finished his breakfast, he rose and wandered over the Bobby to see more closely the image and the accompanying text that Bobby was staring so intently at. Bobby eyes flicked to him, but soon returned to the book without comment from the older hunter.

Sam stood behind him, looking to the page. The dragon's maw was open, teeth blackened by the soot that lingered behind from the dark fiery smoke that steamed out of the mouth. Its eyes were jarring, glowing a incandescent white in the mass of blood coloured scales that covered most of its body, save for the wing membranes and underbelly, both a pale cream colour. It was a true blue, straight-from-Harry-Potter dragon.

Bobby scoffed.  
"Guess this book ain't gonna give me jack if this is what they think dragons look like."

Sam bit down a smile, happy Bobby has chosen to start a conversation. Maybe getting the older man to forgive him would be easier than he thought. He nodded.  
"You can't help but be a little disappointed by the real deal, though."

Bobby raised a eyebrow and poked the drawing.  
"Would you prefer these running around? Thanks Hogwarts, but I'd like to keep the skin on my bones."

Sam surrendered in good humour, raising his hands up, returning to looking over Bobby's shoulder down at the book. They fell in a companionable quiet, though it did not last all that long, for a new voice broke the silence.

"Gotta agree with Sammy. I'd choose Spyro over those wingless douchebags anyday."

Sam looked to to his brother, who stood at the door. He was still in his clothes from the prior day, rumpled by sleep. Sam smiled at his brother's disheveled appearance. 

"Merry Christmas Dean."

Dean returned a smile of his own, though it seemed like a self-satisfied one.  
"You really have become the yuletide moose. I'm so proud."

Dean looked at Sam with a mocking paternal fondness. Sam replied with a annoyed bitch face.  
"Just because I said Merry Christmas doesn't automatically make me Buddy the Elf."

"You could never be an elf. You're too tall,” Dean murmured back without much thought, his mind focused on the task of finding coffee.

Sam smiled smugly, knowing his brother just stepped into something he would regret.  
"Then you can be the elf. You fit the height requirements."

Dean eyes snapped to Sam, coffee forgotten. Horror flooded into his eyes as he realised what he’d just done, and his mouth opened in retort. Sam could see Dean floundering, trying and failing to come up with something witty. Sam chuckled at his brother, Bobby too breathing a small laugh.  
"He got you there."

Dean huffed, crossing his arms petulantly.  
"I'm...I'm not the shortest....Bobby is.....I'm not the elf," his words quieting and becoming merely those of a mumbling man. 

"Stop before you dig yourself a deeper hole," Bobby reprimanded.

Sam stifled a laugh.  
"Then he'd be even shorter."

Bobby and Sam couldn't help themselves, bursting into raucous laughter, Dean's humiliation growing as he failed to defend himself. Revenge, the shorter Winchester vowed, he would have it and it would be fantastic.

The sound of fluttering interrupted the atmosphere, the laughter and the mumbled insults towards certain mooses fading away. They all turned to their sudden visitor. Castiel, face neutral and trenchcoat slightly ruffled, stood marble-like in the centre of the room. Despite his stoic expression, he had a impatient air to him, like he was in a rush. He was always in a rush nowadays, though, so Sam didn’t think much of it. Castiel went to speak, but Dean barged in, marching over to and standing tall beside the seraph, holding his palm flat and raising it from Cas' head to his own, depicting the 2 inch difference between the two.

"Here, see, he's shorter. I'm not an elf. If anyone is Buddy, it’s Cas, okay." Dean looked proud of the fact. Castiel just turned a perplexed and kind of annoyed look to the eldest Winchester.

"Dean. Why is that of any importance?"

The angel stared (up, stared up Dean thought furiously) at him with squinted eyes, that iconic befuddled look that Dean had since deemed Cas’ 'humans are weird' expression.

Sam stepped in before Dean could continue parading the fact he wasn't short.  
"Cas. What's up?" Sam refrained from saying 'obviously not Dean Winchester because he's so short' because this wasn't exactly the best time. He filed it away for later use, though, knowing it would be hilarious. This wouldn’t go away anytime soon, that was to be sure.

Castiel eyes darted up for a second or two, then retreated back down when the angel realised that Sam didn't mean it in the literal sense. The angel was getting better at figuring these out quicker, and he was quite proud of that fact. He didn’t feel quite so disconnected as he did when he first joined the Winchesters. Though, Dean’s continued use of pop culture to refer to anything was still a nuisance he had yet to understand. The angel sometimes struggled to keep up with conversations when half of it was nonsense. As it was, he didn’t have time to deal with translating Dean’s references. He instead addressed the younger Winchester, delivering what he came to say.

"I have intel on where another weapon of Heaven is located. We should retrieve it before it falls in the wrong hands. It is essential that Raphael and his soldiers do not obtain this artifact. We must go now." Castiel raised his hands towards the Winchesters, ready to transport them away from Bobby's house. The two brothers retreated, the tallest (a.k.a not Dean) speaking for both when the angel looked at them in confusion, and a pinch of hurt.

"Hey Cas, that's great,” Sam assured, “really, but can we do it tomorrow maybe. We’ve done so much lately. I didn’t have a soul for a whole lot of that. We need to rest. Besides, Cas, it’s Christmas. We need to have a day of just rest and research."

Castiel's confusion turned to holy wrath, his blue stare hardening to steel. Somehow, without moving, the angel took on a intimidating stance, the Heavenly might his human charges so often forgot rising up and burning the air.  
"Do you think war waits for you to celebrate a holiday? Angels are dying as we speak. This weapon would be most beneficial in aiding us. Your help is needed to retrieve it."

Sam looked taken aback at Cas' barbed words, whilst Dean's expression was one of angered contempt.  
"Who shoved a stick up your ass? If you want us to help, you can wait 'til tomorrow. We have lives y'know."

Castiel looked like he wanted to punch Dean where he stood. His words burned through the air. If Sam didn’t know Cas as well as he did, he would have missed the hint of sad desperation that hid amongst his words.  
"As do I, as you so often forget. If you won't help me, then I'll take my leave. I don't have time for this petty argument anyway."

He disappeared, the sound of wings replacing his presence until that too faded away. The three humans all looked to each other, the oldest Winchester exclaiming what they were all thinking.

"What the hell was his problem?"

Sam, ever the empathetic one, spoke in defense of Castiel..  
"You were a little harsh on him, Dean."

"He can take a harsh word or two every now and again. Plus it's not like he didn't have it coming."

Sam wished he could argue with that, but even he could see that Castiel had been more tempered as of late, quick to fury and all the quicker to leave. Nowadays, Cas only came when they wanted him to, or when he needed them to do something for him. It seemed like the angel merely came out of duty, not friendship. When he did come, he was exhausted and angry or both. Sam knew why of course. That damn war in Heaven. It was a invisible weight hanging above their heads. Cas could only keep it from falling for so long. The angel was becoming wearier and wearier as time progressed, leaving the him blunt and jagged as a result. Whatever was happening Upstairs was tiring his friend down to the bone. But never once had he used his time with Dean and Sam as a reprieve. There was always something to do, always a bloody fight to be won, and Sam had unfortunately began equating Castiel’s visits to that sole purpose. Though he wish he would say otherwise, it was starting to get on Sam's nerves. He just wanted Cas back, without having to deal with the Heavenly Civil War everytime he showed up. 

"Are you idjits gonna help me with research or not?"

Sam returned from his thoughts. It was Bobby who had spoken. Sam and Dean nodded, the latter somewhat reluctantly. Dean couldn’t stand research most of time but on Christmas. C’mon, that’s just heartless. Sure, Bobby and Sam found it relaxing, but to him ,it was the highest form of mental torture. Thank God hunting made up for the research, because he was done with researching since the first time his dad had made him do it. But, it needed to be done. Lots of crap was going down and they needed to be prepared. So, with as much grumbling as would be tolerated, Dean joined Sam and Bobby in researching.

Books, dust and lore filled the next few hours. Dean eventually had a mild breakdown, throwing a book to the ground with a tired growl and stomping out of the room. Bobby let him go. It was Christmas, and he wasn’t going to force Dean to read boring books the whole day. The older Winchester decided to make a meal out of the things Bobby had that weren't completely inedible or over a decade old. Sam seemed surprised when his mouth watered at the smell of what Dean was cooking. He never expected his brother to be able to cook, let alone make anything that was delicious. The three humans ate the small buffet of assorted cooked meals, all of which were delectable. Sam, for a second, thought he should drop the short joke as an act of kindness. ‘For a second’ being the key term there. Dean would still be hearing about it for some time.

The day passed and midnight approached. None of them were sleeping, still researching as the last hour of the day neared its end. The snow continued to fall, the house surrounded in a sea of white. Christmas Day faded away as the last minute passed without any of the house's occupants noticing.

And thus ended the sixth day of Christmas.


	7. The Seventh Day of Christmas: 2011

Sam watched the sun rise over the horizon, bringing pinks and blues that spilled out into the darkness. His brother still slept within the motel room, dead to the world and its going-ons. Sam wished he could sleep like that. Just have nothing going on in his head but dreams. 

Unfortunately, hallucinations weren't exactly a great sleeping pill. He had been awake for many hours before escaping for the nearby park he now resided in. It was chilly, the morning air fresh as Sam breathed it in. It was December once again on Earth. Sam knew what day it was. It was Christmas. He didn't particularly care. In the scheme of things, it wasn't important right now. The only Christmas he ever really enjoyed was the one they had two years ago, with Castiel and Bobby. Now they were both gone, taken by the same enemy. The Leviathan. 

Sam felt the fire in his veins, his anger. He and Dean would find a way to kill all of them and avenge their fallen friends. He wished he could go back and stop Cas ever letting those damn things into the world. Just stop everything that ever led that to being the angel’s final option in stopping a second Apocalypse. Because in trying to end one kind of Apocalypse, he started another, and by doing so, stole Bobby away from them. Yet, no matter how much Sam knew he should, he didn't blame Cas for Bobby's death. The angel caused all this, but it was never his intention, and Sam never tried to place the blame on anyone who didn't shoot the final bullet. Sam knew who to blame: Dick Roman. He would die, be it by Dean or Sam's hand, and both would find pleasure in doing so.

The sun had almost escaped it's earthbound jail, the celestial body floating lackadaisically just above the horizon. A halo of clouds glowed in its strengthening light, the sky shining with an array of beauty as if it was designed by angels. Sam smiled slightly at the thought of Castiel painting the sky for him and Dean. Sam wondered if angels had their own heaven to watch over their brothers and sisters, and for some, over their human charges. Maybe they were somewhere in the stars, gazing towards the Earth. Sam imagined Gabriel and Anna there as well, keeping Castiel company. It was a happy thought and brought some comfort to Sam in regard to his lost angel friend. It was better than believing all that Castiel had now was nothingness. 

Sam watched over the sun's progress until it was high up above the horizon, its light completely encompassing his surroundings. He’d been gone for some time now, and Dean had a chance of being awake now. He didn’t want his brother to worry. He got up from the park bench he had been sitting on and trudged back to their room. He looked to the car they had stolen, parked just outside the room. It's shape and colouration were reminiscent of the Impala, though lacked in the aspect that it wasn't. It wasn’t the car they grew up in, the one they’d scratched their initials into, the one that let Sam usurp Lucifer’s control and end the Apocalypse. The Impala was their home, and this car was merely a crude imitation. Dean still was bitter about his Baby, and Sam understood his sentiments. He missed the Impala. It's blemishes, it's smell, it's memories. This replacement didn't measure up, merely a poor imitation. Sam gazed at the trunk. The only piece of home was hidden in there, the only remains of what they’d lost.

He tore himself away, walking over to the door of their motel room. He entered it as quietly as he could, hoping not to wake his brother. Soft snores told the younger Winchester that the other's slumber remained. Dean, even when unconscious, seemed to recognise Sam’s footsteps, looking somewhat comforted now his brother was no longer absent. Sam went to the fridge, looking for something to drink. It was a little to early for alcohol (though by Dean's standards, it was socially acceptable), so Sam took out a bottle of lemonade and began slurping the bittersweet liquid.

"Lemonade. Oh, Sam, why not have the stronger stuff. I do so love it when you're even more screwed up. Alcohol tends to do that pretty well."

Sam turned towards the mocking voice, finding Lucifer smirking at him as he sat on the table. He was playing with a empty beer bottle, his index fingers holding both ends as he twirled them in small circles, making the bottle rock like a ship. Sam refused to scowl as the fallen angel, remaining stoned face. He already given the Devil too much by merely acknowledging him. Lucifer ceased the rocking motion and let the bottle fall down to the ground with a loud crash, that if it were real would have awoken the older Winchester. Lucifer pouted at the bottle's remains with fake sadness.

"What a waste. This Christmas isn't starting so well, huh, Sam?"

Lucifer casted his smug gaze back to Sam, awaiting a reply. Sam bit back a retort, ignoring Lucifer by returning to his lemonade.

"Sammy," Lucifer called in a sing-song voice, "why must we play this game. I talk to you, you ignore me. All I want is a little conversation. But you have to rude as always. It's as if you don't like me. I’m hurt, truly."

The Devil frowned mockingly as he spoke, eyes fluttering. Sam refrained from throwing his bottle at his hallucination, knowing that crash would definitely wake his brother. He didn’t want to give the Devil the satisfaction. He dug his nails into his palm. Lucifer glanced down, not missing the motion, grinning with pleasure.

"You are so fun to mess with. Our extra special bonding times really light up my day, though I'll have to admit, I cannot wait for the finale."

Lucifer grinned as he faded away, the broken bottle on the floor disappearing with him. Sam clenched hard on his lemonade out of worry and anger. He stood silently, his mind racing frantically. The grand finale? What did that mean?

"Are you going to stand there forever, Plato, or you going get me a beer?"

Sam turned to his brother, who was sitting at the edge of his bed. Dean looked tired despite his sleep, eyes burdened with dark bags and hair mussed by his slumber. Sam wondered how long he had been awake for, and if he had seen Sam's angry staring contest with the imaginary Devil on his shoulder. If he had, the eldest Winchester made no comment.

"Sorry, didn't notice you were awake," Sam stated. He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He threw it across to Dean, who despite having just woken up, managed to catch it with deft precision.

"Thanks." Dean looked to the alarm clock as he opened the bottle. He paused, then groaned audibly.  
"December 25th. You've got to be kidding me."

Sam wandered over and sat on the adjacent bed, looking to his brother.   
"What's wrong with that?"

Dean raised an eyebrow.   
"Do you actually need me to answer that?"

Sam didn't respond. He knew that was Dean for 'I don't want to talk about it'. The younger brother also understood what Dean was avoiding. Sam spoke softly, gentle so not to poke the bear that was Dean to hard. The wounds were too fresh.

"Christmas isn't the same without them."

Dean glared darkly at Sam.  
"Shut up. I'm not spending today talking about them so don't bring them up." He took a sip of his beer, his body language blaring 'change the subject!'.

Sam nodded. Dean was still raw, lost and above all, angry. He was allowed to shout, to scream, to cry into a inky coat when Sam wasn’t looking, and to drink way too much from Bobby’s old flask. Knowing he wouldn't get any further than that, he tried to find a subject that wasn't Castiel or Bobby related, finding one in the Leviathan.

"Dick has been making lots of announcements the last few days. Think he's up to something?"

"Wow, Sherlock. Of course he's up to something. Just got to find out what the hell it is."

Sam didn't take offense from Dean's words, knowing his brother would often be blunt and to the point when he was grieving. Sam just wished his older brother would open up to him. All he could do is be there for Dean whilst he was wading in his dark emotions.

"Doesn't matter what it is. All we have to do is kill them before they do,” Sam said with certainty. He would be Dean’s support, whether he liked it or not. 

Dean's mouth tilted into a smile.  
"We sure will. Those sons of bitches won't see what's coming. We're the friggin' Winchester's." He held his glass up, and Sam clinked it with his own. Better a vengeful Dean than a hopeless Dean.

"I couldn't agree with you more." Sam replied. Sadly, the next words out of his mouth weren't so uplifting.  
"Before we do that, research."

Dean's smile turned into a grimace.  
"Great. Merry Christmas to me."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics.   
"It isn't that bad."

"Research, Sam. Not exactly on my Christmas list."

"Your Christmas list probably has 'have sex with Princess Leia' on it."

"....You're not wrong. Can't pass up on golden bikini Leia."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a nerd. You start researching. I'll get us something to eat." Dean rose and walked to the door.

"Be careful," Sam called after him.

A mumbled "yes mum" was Dean's response before the door closed behind him. Sam got his laptop and began checking the news.

Dean eventually returned, and helped with research, albeit reluctantly. The two eventually found something of interest a few states over, and as the day neared its end, the brother's got into the stolen car and started their drive to the next stop on their quest to save people, hunt things, avenge friends, and kill the freaking Leviathans. 

And thus ended the seventh day of Christmas.


	8. The Eighth Day of Christmas: 2012

Dean had been driving for what seemed forever, the Impala's seats causing his back to hurt like crazy. The sky had faded from night to day as he had drove, the sun now nearing the end of the morning as the Impala travelled through the flat landscape. Snow, only a few days worth, had accumulated upon the ground, giving the surroundings a pale appearance.

The long road was mostly empty, only a few cars passing the Impala every so often, and Dean suspected it was the fact he was in the middle of Nowhere, Wherethehellville driving aimlessly to Somewhere Else. He didn't have any cases to drive to, so he was just driving until he found something to do.

The rumble of the Impala was one of those things that he found comfort in. Even when his back was sore and he needed to move, it relaxed him. It was something he had missed when he was in Purgatory. He had missed his brother as well, but it seemed that wasn't reciprocated. The Impala gave Dean more comfort than his brother had since he had returned. And wow, wasn’t that kinda sad. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the one who plagued them. Sam groaned from the passenger seat, waking from his slumber. He eyed Dean blearily, who was adamantly staring ahead at the road, though the weathered tar was not particularly interesting in any regard.

"Mornin'. How'd you sleep?" Dean said without much intrigue in receiving an answer. He was just saying it to avoid an awkward silence.

Sam stared out the window to the passing scenery as he spoke.   
"Okay, I guess. Where are we?"

"Either in Missouri or Illinois. I dunno where, haven't really been paying attention. I think we passed Clarence a while back.” He sighed, and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Dude, I'm just driving for the sake of it. Maybe you can use your magic Internet connecting abilities to find us a case."

Sam looked unimpressed when he faced Dean, but pulled out his phone anyway. Dean never could figure out how his little brother always got Internet, but he did, and right now wasn't an exception to the rule. Sam began reading intently, scrolling to read whatever it was.

Sam had been reading for a while when Dean reached what seemed to be the outskirts of a city. After seeing a few shops and signs, he figured out it was Hannibal, Missouri. Dean nudged his brother out of his reading stupor.

"Okay, I know where we are now man. Search for something in St. Louis or Springfield or anywhere within 2 hours. I just need to get out of this car as soon as possible."

Sam nodded as he punched in Dean's instructions into the search bar. His face looked extremely thoughtful whenever Dean glanced at him. The Impala had crossed over the Mississippi and was a little way along Route 72 before Sam spoke.

"There might be something in Springfield. Two victims, both missing hearts, the attacks coinciding with the full moon last month."

"Werewolf," Dean said, more of a statement than a question.

"Yep. The full moon this month is on December 28th, so that gives us about three days to find it before it kills someone else."

Dean paused.  
"Wait three days? That makes today the 25th."

Sam nodded as he read more on the attacks, not really paying attention. Dean hummed gruffly, surprised that Christmas seemed to have creeped up on him again without him noticing. Figures, it always seemed to do that whenever he was preoccupied by other things. Which was always. He couldn't go a frigging month without some end of the world problem on the horizon. Right now, at least, nothing major was weighing on him but give it a month or two, and this relative peace would probably have vanished. Dean suspected either his brother or Cas would break it. They seemed good at doing that. He quickly chastised himself for thinking that. They might have screwed up a few times, but they always had good intentions. 

"Well, Merry Christmas, Sam."

Sam smiled slightly up at him, but it faltered quickly, and he returned his attention back to the phone to continue reading whatever was on the screen. The silence was getting annoying after a few minutes, and Dean decided to put on a cassette to fill it. ‘Good Times, Bad Times’ by Led Zeppelin began to play, much to the younger brother's chagrin. The song and Sam's childish annoyance sparked joy in Dean, and he smiled widely. Even if things were tense between them, he still loved his kid brother. Besides, annoying Sam was one of the funniest things. 

After an hour of rock music and just-over-the-limit driving, they arrived in Springfield. Knowing they'd probably be there for several days, they got a room at a motel just on the edge of the city. The room was nice, but still pretty bland save for the Christmas decorations that were placed here and there, as if it was an afterthought of the owners.

"Motels never seem to get it right, do they?" Dean criticized, much to the youngest Winchester's agreement. Since Bobby's house had burned down, neither of them really had anywhere that accommodated them as nicely as it had. Rufus' cabins were just upperclass motels, and were nowhere near as homely as the Salvage Yard.

Sam got his laptop out now once they had made themselves at home as much as they could. He read more on the victims, getting the names and addresses of the families, and hacking into the police system to get the autopsy reports and other pieces of information. Dean ate some of the provided motel food as he watched over Sam's shoulder.

"So, will we question the victims today?" Dean asked. Sam faced him, pursing his lips in concentration.

"I don't think they would be as willing to talk much, given the day. I think that most people are busy on Christmas Day."

Dean laughed airily.   
"'Cept us. People must think we're Grinches. So, just research today?"

Sam nodded.  
"Yeah. Tomorrow, we're FBI Agents Vincente and Jeffreys."

Dean groaned.   
"This is why I choose the names. Ladyheart is a terrible band."

"They can't be that bad if you know their names."

Dean grumbled unintelligibly, but it was obviously sarcastic by the tone he used. Sam just breathed a long suffering sigh. Dean let him win that argument, but he didn’t tell Sam that. Instead, he pulled out his won laptop. He researched for a short time, eventually giving up after two hours.

"I might make a few calls," he said vaguely, shutting his laptop. Sam looked up at Dean, a questioning look on his face.

"I thought we were going to talk to the victims tomorrow?"

"No, idiot. I actually have friends. It's Christmas, thought I'd check up on them."

Sam mouth made a small 'o', then shook his head, seeming to berate his misconception.   
"Right, yeah. Go ahead."

Dean left the room, heading beeline to the Impala. He leaned on the hood, pulling his phone out as he did so. He scrolled through his contacts list to Kevin, dialing it. The kid must either have been zonked by too much work and no play, or was in ultra research mode, because his recorded voice answered instead of him.

"This is Kevin Tran. Leave me alone unless it is important or you're a Winchester or both. If you're getting this voicemail I'm dead or busy. Either way, leave a message."

Dean actually laughed. Kevin definitely grew a spine while Dean was in Purgatory. He waited for the beep to speak.

"Hiya Kevin. Today's Christmas, so I just wanted to say you can have a break, man. I know you must be tired of the Godrock. Just a day or two then you can get back to it. Sound okay? We'll visit you soon or something. Get you a proper meal. I think you deserve it. See you, kid."

Dean ended the message. Kevin probably wouldn't take his advice, but hey, at least he gave him the option. He scrolled up to Benny, curious about how his vampire friend was doing and if he actually celebrated Christmas. The ringing hummed into his ear, interrupted by a voice Dean's recognized as Benny's drawling voice.

"Hey chief. What's the story?"

Dean smiled, despite his friend being unable to see it. He could hear people in the background, leading Dean to believe Benny must be in a diner or somewhere populated.   
"Nothing Benny. Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Is that so? I haven't done Christmas in decades. Not exactly my cup of sunshine, bud. But, when in Rome I guess. Merry Christmas to you as well. Anything else?"

"Ah...You're good, right? Nobody been bothering you, have they?"

"No. Everything is fine. I'm as okay as I can get, buddy. Don't you worry about me. I'm actually busy right now, chief, but I'll talk to you when I've got some time on my hands, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. See you." Dean tapped the hang-up button, the ambiance on the other end cutting away to nothing. He was glad Benny was okay. He just hoped no hunter would decide to mess that up. Dean looked to his phone. He had one more call to make. He scrolled slightly, and tapped on the next name. The phone rang for an exceeding amount of time, leading Dean to believe it would go to voicemail, before a gruff voice answered.

"Hello, Dean. Why are you calling me?"

Dean chuckled into the phone.  
"Can't a man talk to his friend for no reason?"

"Not if that man is Dean Winchester."

"You wound me, Castiel,” Dean said with mock offence, “I just wanted to say Merry Christmas."

A short beat.  
"Oh. Merry Christmas to you too, Dean."

A period of silence took hold before Dean spoke.   
"You want to come over? We could hang out for Christmas. Sam and I are staying at the Sleep Inn, Springfield, Illinois. Just zap on over."

"I....I can't."

Dean frowned.  
"Why not?"

"......I don't know." He said it like it was a mystery, a riddle he couldn't solve. Dean felt his concern grow.

"Hey, man, what's wrong?"

Again, there was a short beat before Castiel spoke, his voice mechanical yet unsure, as if he were reading a script for the first time.  
"I am.....busy. Trivial holidays do not concern me. I....must go."

A click told Dean the angel had hung up. He pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at the red screen with a shocked expression. What the hell was that? Then again, why was he surprised. Frustration and worry became coiled in his chest. Castiel hadn't been himself, not really, not since Purgatory. Either the angel had forgot how to be an okay person or someone was pulling his strings. Dean wished he could figure it out which one.

Dean pushed his phone back into his pocket, returning to his brother. He didn't continue researching, choosing to watch some television. Home Alone was just beginning, and through slight persuasion, Dean managed to get Sam to stop researching and watch it with him.

The sequel was to play after it, and Dean persuaded his brother to watch that with him as well. The night neared its peak when the second Home Alone had finished. Happy with the amount of research they had done, the brothers chose to retire to bed. Both worried for the future as they fell into a light slumber, and both worried for each others safety, though they would never tell the other that. The final minutes of Christmas were spent in sleep.

And thus ended the eighth day of Christmas.


	9. The Ninth Day of Christmas: 2013

Sam awoke to silence. The bland interior of his room welcomed him. He felt the weight that accompanied his waking mind, begin to burden him once more with its misery. He knew his evanescent dreams has been of fire and burnt eyes. He couldn’t escape it. No matter what he did. It had been only a few days since he became the only being in his body once more, but not before the parasite had leached the life out of Kevin. Sam could see his hands extinguishing the young prophet’s life. He woke up with the image everyday.

He groaned, still tired despite his sleep. His body was sore, uncomfortable, a sick feeling squirming under his skin. It felt warm, yet not in a good way, more stifling than comforting. Sam wondered if this feeling would always be there now. He hoped against that notion.

He rose from his bed, wiping a hand down his face. Distantly, Sam could hear the sound of the coffee machine. Like a sailor to a siren, he made his way to the noise, finding his way to the kitchen. His bleary mind expected Dean, with his dressing gown and smirk, making his little brother a cup of joe like nothing had happened between them. But something had happened, and instead a trenchcoated figure awaited Sam in the kitchen.

Castiel's head turned, blue eyes wide and childlike. It always did perplex Sam how the mostly stoic angel could display so much emotion with his eyes. Maybe Castiel always had done this, and time and friendship had led Sam to be able to read it more clearly. Castiel's mouth turned into a small smile when he saw Sam, though it faltered when Sam didn't manage to return it. He turned his ocean gaze to the coffee machine, seeming to be awaiting the machine to finish brewing as it's dramatic chortles echoed in the kitchen.

"I discovered you have a coffee machine. Would you like a cup of coffee, Sam?"

Sam could see Castiel was already in the process of making him one, so he said yes, so not to cause disappointment. The angel looked proud when he turned his eyes back to Sam.

"I am quite skilled in manufacturing the beverage now, so if you would like anymore, all you need is ask."

"Uh, thanks, Cas."

Castiel's eyes lit up fondly, and he returned to staring at the coffee machine in the way he seemed to stare at everything, studying it as it made the caffeinated beverage. Sam sighed as he sat at the table, loud enough for Castiel to hear. The angel noticed it, a furrow forming between his brows, and he went to speak. The chirp of the machine stole his attention, and nothing was said. Sam was sort of glad. He wasn’t really ready to talk.

Sam wondered where Dean was, because even when he was angry at the jerk, he still worried for him. The older Winchester was probably doing something stupid, which of course he was, Sam knew him too well. What that stupid thing was what was worrying Sam.

"Sam. Samuel."

The Winchester looked up, escaping his cloud of thoughts, his angel friend holding a steaming cup in his face. 

"Your coffee."

Sam took it into his hands, hugging it close. The steam wafted up and caressed his face warmly. Castiel had a cup as well, holding it in his hands. He stared at it curiously before taking a sip. He scrunched up his features in befuddlement. Sam raised an eyebrow in silent question, which Castiel managed to understand as a prompt to explain his expression. The angel felt immense happiness that he was getting to understand the Winchester subtleties, just as Sam and Dean were happy to be understanding his.

"It doesn't taste as it did when I was human. I think I will endeavour to see if the taste of food and beverage are once again lost to me. It would be a shame. Food is quite good."

Sam, despite his state of emotion, smiled in amusement. Castiel cast his coffee aside, placing it on the table.

"If you wish, you can have mine. It can be my Christmas gift to you."

Sam eyed Castiel, doing a great imitation of the seraph's iconic confused stare.  
"Is that today?"

Castiel tilted his head.  
"Yes......did you not know? I thought you and Dean adored Christmas."

 

"I don't....I don't adore Christmas. That's.....Dean."  
Sam exhaled a heavy sigh, his face darkened by a strange combination of yearning, anger and sadness.

Castiel sat next to Sam, placing a comforting hand on the taller man's shoulder.   
"You miss your brother. I understand. Family should be present at the hardest, and also the best of times. I don't think I can say I ever had family like that until I found you and Dean. You two are the best example of family that I have ever come across. Sometimes, Sam, even the best things can break, but it does not mean it can't be fixed. I can not replace your brother, of that I am well aware. He must always come first. But know that I am here to help in anyway I can, even if all I can do is prepare coffee for you.” He chuckled softly at that. “If that helps, than I will take pleasure in doing so. Until which point your brother returns, then I'll be here."

Sam placed his gaze of Castiel, a small and sad smile on his face. 

"Thanks Cas. That means a lot. Do you, uh, want to do something for Christmas?"

Castiel removed his hand from Sam's shoulder, and pondered the question, canting his head as he gazed out thoughtfully.   
"The last time I celebrated Christmas, we watched a movie based around the holiday. Is there more like it?"

Sam huffed a small laugh.  
"Tons. Yeah, we can watch some Christmas movies."

The blue in the angel's eye lit up with joy.   
"Thank you."

Sam nodded. He knew that he wouldn't be solving any problems by brooding, and Cas needed Sam and much as Sam needed Cas. Dean left an emptiness neither could fill, and it was best to work together so not to fall into it and drown.

Sam stood up, taking both his and Cas' cup of coffee into his hands.  
"No problem. Anything for family."

~~~~~~~~~~~~••○••~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean gulped the beer, the burning liquid sating his thirst. The bottle was nearing emptiness and yet Dean didn't feel that uplifting buzz he was seeking. NOt like he expected to anyway. He hadn't felt it in years. He wished he could feel numb, feel false happiness, feel free. It was not to be. No matter how much alcohol he drank, Kevin burning at Sam's hands kept tugging harshly at his mind.

Solitude was his penance, the guilt his wound. Kevin's death was just another stab at his mind, another death to his list of many. Dad, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Kevin. Seemed to be a list he had to keep adding to, with each death he caused, the list lengthened, and he had more reasons to go to Hell. Again.

Dean sighed. He wanted to be alone, but this conflicted with his want, no, need, to be with his brother. Sam, the only one he managed to cross off the list. His little brother, the one Dean had to save. Always. He couldn't let him go. Not even when Sam had wanted to die. But he hadn’t been able to accept that. He couldn't let Sam be on his list. But now that choice had caused Kevin to replace him.

He screwed up. Nothing would ever change that. Dean stared at the empty bottle, ignoring the noise of the bar that threatened to intrude in on his mind. Dean didn't know what to do. He was lost, without his brother, his best friend and his home. Dean knew his weakness was his family, and the absence of it was a sure way for him to spiral down into misery.

A presence sat beside him, and Dean managed to tear his gaze from the Empty Beer Bottle of Sadness to whoever it was. It was a woman, skin dark and eyes darker, short black hair that contrasted her gold hoop earrings and sparkling silver dress. She was smiling, not in the lustful way Dean was used to in places like this, but in a friendly way.

"Drinking beer by yourself on Christmas Day. Either you're a sorry sod or a sociopath," she said, her voice influenced by her English lilt. She didn't sound flirtatious, nor obnoxious with her words.

"Can't I be both?" Dean replied, trying to return her friendly tone. He didn't feel like flirting anyway. Despite what Sam thought Dean actually didn't flirt with every woman. Only some. Most. Practically all. Okay, maybe Sam wasn't entirely wrong. Dean couldn't help being awesome.

"Hmm. Both aren't exactly an achievement. Don't want to make it sound like you're a child, but where's your family?"

Dean avoided her eyes.  
"It's...just me."

The lady looked at him with sincere sympathy.  
"Why?"

For some reason, Dean answered truthfully. Well, mostly.   
"I broke their trust. I lied to one and shut the other out. I needed to get away."

"On Christmas?..." she asked with a sad smile. She shook her head. "Today isn't a day that should be spent alone. Anyone can see you're not enjoying yourself. Take my advice, go back home and pick up the pieces of whatever you broke."

"I can't."

The lady gave a face that resembled Sam's bitchface superbly.   
"Okay, what about this: you go spend the rest of Christmas someplace better. I chose to be here, and like Hell do I wish I was someplace nicer. Because this place smells like a donkey’s arse and the alcohol is watered down to the point it’s not even subtle. But family is more important than location, but if you can't have one, at least have the other."

The lady stared at Dean, a challenging look in her eyes. She must be a therapist or something, Dean thought as he tried staring back, though to no avail. Sam always managed to do the same trick. He sighed as his eyes returned to the beer bottle.

"Why are you talking to some 'sorry sod'? I'm nobody to you."

The lady laughed.  
"Everybody's a nobody at first. Doesn't ever stop me from helping anybody who looks like they need a hand. So, Mr. Nobody, are you going to leave?"

"And just when I thought we were getting along, you ask me to leave. Getting mixed signals here," Dean joked, allowing some charm into his voice. Didn't want to look like a complete piece of crap.

"And because I like you, I want you to spend the rest of this Christmas somewhere nice."

Dean nodded in surrender.  
"Yeah...okay."

She smiled wide.  
"Now get your sorry ass out of here. Have some fun. You look like you need it."

She rose, and without another word, she strolled away, heading towards what he could assume was her family. He watched a little longer, and could hear the lady's words as she spoke to them.

"Yeah, he's okay. A little lost sure, but okay. All he needed was someone to help him along." She looked at him with that ever present smile as she said those last words, obviously knowing he would hear them.

Damn therapist types. Sam would be proud this lady got anything out of him. Dean left the pub, and wandered down the road to the Impala. He was far from drunk, despite the tons of shots he had. He got in, revving the engine so it began to thrum. He loved that sound, and he sat there, letting it wash over him. He listened to it intently as he began driving. The streets all looked the same, and so he drove onto the main road right on out of the city. The stars glittered above him. He followed the brightest star, hoping it would lead this ‘Someplace Better’. He realised, as he let him lead him, that he never got the lady's name, only her words. Where was a nice place? Maybe it didn’t exist all. He groaned and pull off the road, the gravel crackling like embers. The Impala thrummed with restless energy as it sat on the rim of the tar lane. He didn’t even know where he was going. What was he even doing? Dean leaned back into his seat. He was tired of searching. And not just for ‘Someplace Better’.

He looked to the passenger seat, empty as it should never be. The Impala purred, trying to fill the hole. Dean patted the steer wheel, and smiled sombrely. His Baby alway knew when he needed her. Hmm. Maybe she was his Someplace Better. The Impala, his home. Yeah, maybe he could stay here. The lady was right, this didn't make him feel as empty. The Impala was in a way family. All he needed was Sam and it would be perfect.

 

He let out a sigh. He didn’t think he’d ever get that perfect Christmas. Not ever, because he screwed up in the worst possible way. Would Sam ever forgive him for what he did? Would they ever be brothers again?

No, he didn't think they would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~•○•~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Bunker was filled with the sound of movies, their Christmas jingles echoing out. Empty cups of coffee and eggnog were scattered around the rooms. Sam watched the movies, but didn't enjoy them, nor did Castiel, whose worry for the youngest Winchester distracted him from engaging in the movies. The sorrow lingered under their skin, and yet neither could make themselves bring it up. They didn’t want to ruin the day, however far from perfect it was. The day had almost finished when Castiel realised Sam had fallen asleep. The angel knew the youngest Winchester was having trouble sleeping, nightmares plaguing him every night. Castiel knew all too well from his time as a human that sleep didn’t always bring comfort. So, with his renewed grace, he stayed at Sam’s side, guarding him, ready to keep the nightmares at bay. As he did with Dean, so he would do with Sam. He would protect them not only from physical dangers, but the dangers they held within.

Far away, the eldest Winchester fell asleep, the Impala keeping him warm and safe. No matter how much he loved it, it was no substitute for his family. He felt inadequate. He needed to protect them. He needed to find a way. He needed his brother.

And thus ended the ninth day of Christmas


	10. The Tenth Day of Christmas: 2014

Blood dripped down the man's face, leaking forth from the cuts that marked his skin. A wound in his abdomen stained his clothing with the dark liquid, his breath empty as it escaped his lips. His blue eyes was clouded by pain, but he was lucid enough to speak.

"Please...don’t," his breath rattled, his words hoarse with pain. The man began to cough up blood, staining his tan coat further.

An empty man approached, his footsteps desecrating the hallowed ground. A knife made of bone and tooth was held in his right hand, covered in a blood that was not his own. He stood over the fallen man, eying the pathetic creature with narrowed eyes, glinting with malice. He kneeled down. He stroked a hand across the man’s face. It would have been a gentle gesture if not for his nails digging into the fallen man’s flesh. He ignored the whimper, pulling his hand away, replacing it with the blade of bone. Another cut formed, another whimper heard. The empty man traced the blade down to the other’s throat, a dark smirk on his face.

"An angel begging a demon for mercy. It's almost sweet."

The fading blue eyes stared pleadingly at the empty man.  
"Dean, this isn't you....Please."

The empty man laughed, the sound menacing.  
"If this isn't me, then you don't know me at all."

He lifted the knife up, reading to plunge it into the fallen man's throat. Before he could, the man shifted in appearance, someone else replacing him. Another man, tall and with eyes of hazel, stared up at the one with the blade. The wounds of the blue-eyed man seemed to have transcended to this man, the same afflictions upon his skin, the same cloudy veil in his eyes.

"Dean," his voice was softer, less raspy than the previous man,"don't do this. We're....family."

The empty man clicked his tongue condescendingly, nicking the man's cheek with the blade, causing blood to gush out of the cut.  
"I'm growing tired of all this begging."

He once again rose his blade. The man whimpered.   
"I didn't save you. I'm sorry, Dean. Dean. Dean! Wake up!"  
The hazel-eyed man's voice grew stronger, clearer as he spoke. The empty man didn't care. He stabbed down.

"Dean!"

Dean jerked out of his dream, hands holding his shoulders tightly as they shook him. Dean batted at them wearily, feeling weak in the presence of life. The Mark seemed to recoil in disgust, it's voice speaking softly in Dean's head, one word it's repetitive order.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

He berated it, ignoring its tempting words. He didn't want to hurt his brother. Not now anyway. How long that would last, Dean didn't know. The Mark was a darkness he couldn't escape.

"Dean. Are you alright?" Sam asked with a voice filled with worry.

Dean focused on him, and huffed in dark amusement.   
"Yeah, just peachy."

"Dean."

There it was, that voice of strained sympathy, like Dean was a child who had behavioural issues and needed a firm hand to lead him along. Dean was beginning to hate it. Even Cas had started using it.

"I'm fine, Sam. It was just a dream," he said gruffly.

Sam's eyebrows crinkled with the sympathetic look that matched his voice. The younger man let out a breath, but nodded. He backed away reluctantly from Dean and went to the doorway. He looked back, awkward and unsure.

"Okay...um....I'll be in the kitchen."

He went to leave, pausing when Dean called after him.  
"Make me some coffee, would ya?"

There was no reply, but he knew he had been heard, the footsteps fading away. Dean got up from his bed, unwrapping himself from the comforter. He shrugged on his dressing gown after he had done his morning routine and headed to the kitchen. Murmuring could be heard, and Dean knew by now that any murmurs he heard were about him. He waited to listen before entering.

"Cas, he's getting worse. Whatever he was dreaming, it wasn't good. We need to find a cure. Quickly.... Before we can't save him."

(I didn't save you. I'm sorry.)

"I know Sam. Anyone can see it's changing him. He's becoming something else."

(Dean, this isn't you.)

"Are you sure you don't have any idea how to get rid of it?"

"No, I don’t,” Cas answered forcefully, "do you think I would keep such information to myself? If anyone knows it's Metatron and as you already know that wasn't a fruitful endeavour."

"I know, I'm sorry....I, "a sigh,"I don't know what to do."

"We'll find a way, I swear to you."

When silence followed, Dean took it as a good time to enter. Castiel and Sam started at his entry, which if Dean hadn't heard their conversation would have looked incredibly suspicious. Castiel spoke when Sam remained awkwardly quiet.

"Good morning, Dean."

"Hey Cas. Sam, where's my coffee?"

Sam eyes darted to the quiet coffee machine, wearing a look that Dean could easily read as ‘oops, I spent so much time being secretive I forgot to make the 'Cover Story Coffee'’.

"Ah, sorry man."

"It's fine. I'll make it myself."

Castiel moved to bar the way.  
"If you would like, I can make it. Or any beverage. If you wish, I can make you some eggnog, given the day."

Sam smiled fondly at some memory Dean couldn't fathom, yet somehow it didn't reach his eyes.  
"Cas, your eggnog wouldn't be up to Dean's standards."

Castiel tilted his head, looking at Sam with an offended look.  
"Why not? You said it was quite nice."

"I think Dean prefers when it's alcoholic."

Dean had enough of being talked about, especially when they actually knew he was present.  
"I'm right here. And, no, Sam that's you. Yeah, Cas, I'll have some of your eggnog."

Castiel lips turned at the corners.  
"I will prepare you both a cup."

He started getting the ingredients, and to give him space, Sam and Dean took their leave, neither noticing the small smile slip from Cas' face. They wandered down to the library, able to hear their angel working in the kitchen.

"So," Dean began, "I can assume it's Christmas today."

Sam nodded minutely.  
"Yeah. Not much to celebrate though."

Dean knew what he meant by that statement. The Mark thrummed in irritation at the life beside him. It seemed to hate anything that contradicted pain and death. Dean ignored it and forced a smile.

"There's always something to celebrate, Sammy. We've got the whole team together. Let's have some Christmas fun."

Sam managed a smile as strained as Dean’s.  
"Yeah....okay. It'd be good to do that..."

Sam didn't say it, but Dean could hear it: ‘This might be our last Christmas before you turn darkside.’ It was like the Christmas before Hell. The unspoken sorrow, the attempts at 'chick-flick moments' (on Sam's behalf) and the forced happiness. He could see it already. Sam being all 'oh brother who I love, the Mark is a bitch and you shouldn't listen to it but hey, what do I know, I don't have the Mark so let me look sympathetic'. Dean could also imagine Cas: 'Hello Dean, human who is an idiot sometimes, you hurt my pseudo child's feelings but hey, I forgive you because I'm also an idiot who doesn't know when he should just give up on his messed up human friends'.

Dean realised both depictions were a little over dramatic. He knew they were doing the best they could, even if their best was managing to do absolutely jack when it came to the Mark. But then again, there was also him: 'I'm actually really messed up and fear what I might do but hey, I can't let my brother be disappointed anymore than he is already so let's pretend I'm frigging okay about everything'. And unlike the other summaries, that wasn't an exaggeration.

He and Sam entered the library, and because they knew they had nothing better to do for Christmas, they prepared some Christmas movies, knowing Cas would be happy about it. 

Said angel came in shortly after, holding two cups of eggnog in his hands. His signature almost-smile appeared when he discovered they were to watch Christmas movies, which according to Sam they had done the previous Christmas when Dean was not there. Dean took a sip of the liquid when he received it, surprised when he found out it actually was pretty good. Cas looked a little offended by that fact, obviously tired of being underestimated in his abilities.

They got comfortable and began watching the movies, all from the last century. Dean could see Sam had chose only the ones they had watched in their youth, like it was better to hold on to what you know that what you don't. Dean knew the unknown was stifling. The Mark was an unknown, and all he knew about it was that death followed it like a disciple. However much he enjoyed spending time with his family, the only thing that could satisfy the hollowness in his heart was killing.

Castiel, as always, seemed to pay more attention to Dean and Sam than the movies. Normally it would have annoyed Dean, but today he guessed it was okay. He'd never admit it, but when Castiel was there to guard him and his brother, he didn't feel the Mark’s demand for blood as much. Maybe it feared the light that was an angel, or maybe he felt that Cas would stop him from hurting Sam. Maybe both. 

The three watched the movies, mostly in silence. Dean spared them a glance, and thought about all they’d been through. Just to end here, with him becoming the dark creatures they hunted. He would be their doom, unless they could stop it. But Dean was beginning to suspect nothing would stop the Mark from consuming his soul. All he could do was make sure he had enough will to fight it for as long as he could. He almost laughed at that. Will always seemed to come up didn’t it. They were Team Free Will after all. A boy who feared the future and his brother; an angel with fragile wings and a heavy heart; and a man on the edge of an inevitable darkness. Dean wished they weren't all so broken sometimes but then again, if they weren't so broken they wouldn't need each other. They wouldn't be family.

Sam didn't stay, leaving as they reached the third film of their marathon. Dean suspected he was researching, as nowadays Sam couldn't go a day without researching a way to save his brother. Dean guessed it was Sam's way to feel less helpless.

"Cas," Dean said a little time after his brother had left. The angel made a deep hum of acknowledgement, turning his head to him. Dean continued. Better now than never.

"Protect Sam from me."

Castiel blinked at him, before a flat look took over his face. He uncharacteristically avoided Dean's eyes, staring instead at the movie that was playing. Dean knew why. For all the angel might seem emotionless, his eyes were windows to his every thought and feeling. To hide them were to block anyone from seeing what hid under his skin. Dean didn't know if his friend was angry, upset or annoyed. Damn his poker face.

"I will try," Castiel said monotonously.

"Thanks."

Cas didn't speak for the rest of the night, a silent watcher of both the Winchester and the movies. Dean too remained quiet. The choking feeling of the Mark was beginning to grow once more, wanting to kill with fervent passion, as it had done in his dreams.The way it was going, he knew those murderous dreams would one day come true. That would be the worst day of his life. And every day after would be hell on Earth, for when all he loved were dead, the world would soon fall along with them. He closed his eyes, and all he saw was pain, and blood, and bone. He couldn’t escape it. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let it get him too easy. He would keep on fighting for as long as he could. For Sam, for Cas, for the whole damn world. 

As sleep began to steal him away from consciousness, he heard murmuring. Always with the murmuring. He was too tired to care. He let himself fall into dreams of pain and death.

And thus ended the tenth day of Christmas.


	11. The Eleventh Day of Christmas: 2015

"Dean!"

Sam yelled out from the library, not looking up from his phone. He scrolled through it, searching for a video, grinning widely when he found one he knew Dean would hate. 

"What?!", a tired voice yelled back. Sam could hear footsteps approaching and twisted his head to see his brother enter the room, wearing what he referred to as the 'dead man robe'. Sam couldn't understand why Dean kept wearing it. Sam hid the phone under the table, keeping it in his hand.

"What, man? I was having a really nice kind of dream," the eldest brother said, annoyed.

"Let me guess: Pussy Galore wearing nothing but a golden kimono, the theme song of Goldfinger playing as you makeout."

"No,” Dean drawled, before adopting a perplexed look. “What must you dream about if that's your first guess? Plus, if I ever had a Bond girl fantasy, it would be with Honey Ryder. On a beach. Anyway, it wasn't that kind of dream. It was just weird. You know what, I'll just friggin' tell you so you can stop giving me that look.”

Sam but his lip to stop himself from smiling. What look, there was no look. He was being totally stonefaced. Totally. Dean plunked himself down on the adjacent seat. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, trying to recall whatever dream he’d had. Sam was surprised Dean was even telling him this. They didn’t really talk about their dreams. Most of them were nightmares, really, and those often broached subjects neither wanted to talk about.

“Okay,” Dean began, “so it was really dark. Like crazy dark. I could barely see,....and everyone was there: Charlie, Kevin, Mom, Dad, pretty much everyone we know who's dead. Which is, y'know, quite a few. And....they all had these, I dunno, little marbles of light in their hands. I know, really pansy. But, uh, yeah, they had them. And they were surrounding me like they were part of freaking cult. They all looked real serene too. Then they began walking up to me one by one, and pressing the marble-things against my chest, and because of friggin' dream logic, I, uh...absorbed them. Yeah, shut up Sam. But, I dunno, it felt...nice. They all disappeared when they gave them to me, until everyone was gone. But then you and Cas were there, but you didn't give me anything. You didn't have anything to give.

"I remember you guys were shining. I think I must of been frigging glowing as well because all the darkness faded away. I think you were going to say something...but you idiot, you woke me up!” He threw his hands up in annoyance. “You were probably about to say something important...like, I dunno, 'you're our only hope' or 'you're the best person in the world'. Something like that. And you just had to interrupt it, didn’t you…...But, yeah, that was my dream."

Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was rub away tears or sleep. He didn’t ask. Dean’s dream sounded pretty hectic. And not at all like a usual dream.

"Dean, your dream sounds pretty....detailed. I don't want to say this but...do you think God might be sending you a message?"

Dean gave Sam a taste of his own medicine by providing the youngest with his own bitch face.  
"Yeah, 'cause listening to ‘God’ turned out so well last time. No, man. I just had a weird dream. It's not like He decided to call and forgot to leave a voicemail. Though I'd say that's was sort of your fault ‘cause you interrupted it. Why'd you wake me anyway?"

Sam grinned and raised his phone, changing the subject almost instantaneously. Wasn’t the time to talk about that certain topic anyhow. He tapped his phone, beginning the video he had left ready on his phone. The most cliché Christmas carol anyone could think of emanated from it, and Dean's face contorted in disgust.

"Turn it off or so help me Sam, I will break your phone."

"You wouldn't,” Sam challenged. He would never admit to pulling his phone closer to himself.

"I would."

Sam clicked his phone off cautiously at Dean's serious tone, and quickly hid it in his pocket. He wasn’t going to risk it.  
"How could you love Christmas so much but hate carols with such as passion?"

"Because half of them sound like a kid wrote them and the other half are like some guys went to a Religious Christmas Songwriter Convention and vomited up their ideas and collaged them together. They're crap!"

"OKay okay, I'll know for next time. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Cull the carols and then yeah, it'll be merry."

Sam sighed in mock weariness.  
"Anyway, I had some ideas for what to do today."

"Oh god, you planning Christmas things,” Dean exclaimed, before chuckling. “Heh, I’m surprise I’ve lived to see this day. Okay, if it isn't a) stupid or b) cliché, then sure, I’ll let you plan our Christmas. What'd you got in mind?"

"Snow stuff."

Dean held up a hand.  
"Wait, let me get this straight. You wanna make snow angels and ride on sleds? Really?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.  
"Too stupid and cliché for you?"

Dean pouted, thinking it over. He shrugged.  
"Nah. Actually sounds pretty cool. Maybe we should call Cas. I really want to see a angel make a snow angel. Though the main question is, do we have a sled big enough to fit your Yeti ass?"

"Ha Ha. Yes, Dean, I got us a sled. And, yeah, I was planning on calling Cas anyway. Help me with the sled then we'll call him."

Sam got up. Dean followed, and both headed to the garage, where Sam had kept a sled away from Dean's prying eyes. It was hidden in the corner, a tarp sheet thrown over it. Dean was always too busy with the cars to notice the small bundle. They pulled the tarp off. Dean couldn’t hide his surprise when he found a quaint yet unyielding looking sled, giant in size, wooden in the body with metal to hold it together. Dean gave it an appraising look, impressed by its appearance. He laughed airily.

"Wow. Look at us. Adults about to go sledding like children. How old were we when we did this last?

They lifted it up and began transporting it outside. Sam hummed thoughtfully at Dean's question.

"I dunno. I think I was 8, maybe 9. Just a really long time ago, man. I think it's about time we try again."

Sam and Dean got the sled outside the garage, placing it down. The snow was thick, covering the trees and the ground.

"I was going to put up some protective sigils around the place, but turns out the Men of Letters made a 1 mile radius around the bunker to keep it safe. So, we'll be fine if we stick within the area," Sam explained.

"You learn something new everyday. I'm going to get changed into something warmer. It's friggin' freezing. You go call Cas."

Sam pulled out his phone as his brother left, and called Cas' number. A few rings trilled before he picked up.

"Sam."

"Hey Cas. Are you close by? Dean and I are doing some stuff for Christmas and thought maybe you'd like to join. You're not busy are you?"

"No, of course not. What are you doing?" Cas replied in a bored sounding voice.

 

Sam ignored the tone, knowing Cas wasn't exactly a 'sunshine and rainbows, cuddles all around' kind of guy. Beside, the dude deserved to sound a little done with everything after all the crap that’d happened to him recently. Sam continued.

"Well I know you love Christmas movies, but I thought this year we might do something in the snow. We can watch some movies later on. How's that sound?"

"Sam, I am not a child. You don't have to speak to me like one.....I suspect if I refuse you will bother me anyway. Fine. I'll be there shortly."

The phone call ended and Sam looked at his phone in confusion. Cas really must be having a bad day. Hopefully the festivities would lighten him up a bit. He placed the phone safely in his pocket. Sam heard Dean returning. The older Winchester was now wearing his usual attire, an extra layer thrown over for more warmth, as well as some gloves for both him and Sam. Dean planted his now gloved hands on sled, smirking.

"Let's go find a hill."

They did just that, pulling the sled through the snow to a reasonably sized hill, not too steep or shallow. Both were uncertain if their size would cause problems, despite the sled’s size. They weren’t exactly kid sized people. But better just doing it than never trying, they concluded. The brothers laughed like children when they got to the top. This was the most ridiculous thing they’d done all year. But, no matter how silly it was, it felt great to let their inner kid out again. They sat themselves onto the sled, making sure their limbs could fit into it. They just managed to fit, but it was a tight squeeze. But they wouldn’t give up just because of discomfort. They shared a smirk, and with that, they leaned forward.

Turned out it wasn’t the best idea ever. If anyone else was there, they would have laughed themselves silly as they watched two giant man sled down a hill, screaming like banshees the entire way down when they realised they had made a terrible mistake, right up to the point they crashed ungracefully at the bottom of the hill, leaving them on the ground laughing and groaning like idiots. Sam was happy no one had seen their attempt at sledding. It was utterly embarrassing.

"Sam. Dean."

Okay, scratch that. They looked up from the crash site towards Castiel. He had a half smile on his face, obviously refraining from making any comments, eyes narrowed in amusement. Dean moaned.

"Cas, I swear if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you personally."

Castiel looked even more amused by this.  
"I'd like to see you try."

Dean laughed at that, then turned his head to Sam.  
"No more sledding."

Sam nodded a little to vigorously, and looked down at the snow, feeling it through his gloves. Thank god it was soft, or that would have been way more painful.  
"Agreed. I think we shou-"

A snowball interrupted his words, and he swiped at the cold on his face. He threw a bitch face at Dean. That was so uncalled for. Hit a man when he’s down. He blinked when he noticed Dean wasn’t smirking or laughing or anything. Surprisingly, he looked extremely shocked, no amusement evident in his eyes. Dean’s gaze was focused elsewhere. Sam followed his eyes to Cas. The angel was surrounded by an arch of multiple floating spheres of snow, a wicked grin on his face. Sam felt his jaw drop.

"This'll be fun," Cas mused, a caricature of his head tilt in place. The snowballs sprung forward and hit Sam and Dean before their hunter instincts could kick in. They spluttered at the snow, and held their hands up to shield their faces. Sam looked to Dean, silently sending a message when he flicked his eyes to the sled. They rolled back to the sled and lifted it up, using it as a shield.

"This is war, Cas!" Dean yelled, smiling wide. They heard Castiel chuckle, ringing out at a higher pitch than his voice.

"That's the idea."

Snowballs thudded into the sled. Dean started preparing some of his own.  
"We can beat him Sam, even if he has angel mojo. I make them, you throw them."

They implemented the strategy. Sam picked up one of Dean's prepared snowballs and raised up from his crouching position to throw it at Cas, who didn't move an inch, snowballs still floating around him, his face pinched with amusement as he stared at Sam.

Sam flung the snowball, grinning when he knew his aim was true. It sailed through the air, right towards Cas’ face. But it didn't reach the target. It paused abruptly in mid air, completely ignoring the laws of nature and physics, stopping just in front of Castiel's face. It hovered there for a moment, and Cas leaned over to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow. He flicked his wrist, and just like a yo-yo, the snowball shot back at Sam. The Winchester yelped, and only just dodged it by sinking back behind the sled. He peeked out over the sled and nearly got an eyeful of snow. He darted back behind the shield. No, he wouldn’t give up that easy. He picked up another of Dean’s snowballs, and chucked another projectile towards the angel. This time, the returning shot hit him dead in the face. He brushed it off. He tried again and again, but no matter what strategy he used, no snowball hit it's mark. Castiel was approaching, and they couldn’t stop it. Sam turned to his brother.

"Dean, I don't want to say this but...I don't think we can beat him. There's pretty much no chance. "

Dean looked up from his 20-something snowballs, a sad pout on his face.  
"But that means for the rest of our lives, Cas can say he beat us in a snowball battle. That's not something I want him to have against us."

"Sorry, man. Some battles we gotta lose. Plus, I think Cas deserves a win."

Dean couldn’t argue with that. He knew it was true. He wiped a hand down his face, the sound of the thumping snowballs like the ticking of a second hand on a clock. He huffed, before raising placating hands above the sled.  
“Cas! Stop! White flag, man! White flag!"

They heard was the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.  
"So, do you concede?"

The brothers stood up to face Castiel. The floating snowballs were gone, and they both relaxed. The youngest answered for both of them.  
"Yes, we concede."

Castiel's mouth twitched up.  
"Took you long enough," he said gruffly. He grimaced slightly before he continued, "So, Winchesters, what shall we do now, hmm?"

Dean shrugged.  
"Snow angels?"

A glare was his only answer.

"Okay, maybe not. What would you like to do, Cas?"

Castiel looked thoughtful, though in an insincere way, like he was had was pretending to realised something he already knew. The air became colder as the wind picked up, and Sam shivered as the angel spoke.

"We could return to the bunker. I would like to do some research but you two can...watch Christmas movies. I will not bother you. Unless, of course, you want me to do something. I assume that's would be a yes."

Dean placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder, the angel eying it with an indiscernible emotion.  
"Yeah, man, sounds good. It’s getting pretty cold anyway. Well, colder. Maybe you can make your world famous eggnog."

"Ah...yes. I can do that."

They headed back the bunker, the angel carrying the sled single handedly. He took it back to the corner to be forgotten until next time the Winchesters’ decided to try that silly idea again. They returned to the library to do some research for a few hours. Castiel did make them some eggnog, but it didn't taste the same, not as nice. Sam didn't mention it. He didn't want to hurt the angel's feelings.

After a few hours of quiet research of anything Darkness related, they went to watch some movies in Dean's bedroom. Before they could, Castiel told them he had to do 'something', and left. Sam and Dean shrugged it off. Castiel was always disappearing off to do things, though they did wish he had stayed around. He was part of the family, and watching Christmas movies was becoming their tradition.

Sam noticed as the third movie finished that Dean had fallen asleep on his bed, drooling slightly on the pillow. Sam switched off the television and lay back in his chair. He was tired. He didn’t feel like going to his bed to sleep. Dean probably wouldn't mind if his little brother fell asleep in his room. Hopefully, anyway. He faded into unconsciousness, and the two slumbered side by side. If God sent them a message that night, they never heard it.

And thus ended the eleventh day of Christmas.


	12. The Twelfth Day of Christmas: 2016 (Canon-Compliant)

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch

Dean chiseled the wall, adding to the tallies already present. Another day in this human made Hell, another day trapped from the world. The numbers were there, and yet he didn't know what day it was. Sunday? Monday? What even was the date? Was it December? January? All he had were the lines on the wall, and yet they still managed to tell him nothing. He didn't have much anymore. Just what this prison gave him.

Routine, routine, routine.

Dean was beginning to miss everything. The sky, the world, the Bunker, the Impala, Mom, Cas. His brother. The prison seemed to think separation was best. It would be in their eyes, but for Dean it was the worst torture that anyone could use on him. He was dying slowly as the world around him was taken away, still there, just always out of reach.

Gray rooms, gray bed, gray heart. He felt like everything was fading to gray. How long would he be in this gray world? Dean craved colour more and more as the days passed. Sam's hazel eyes, Mom's blond hair, Cas' tan trenchcoat, the Impala's beige interior. He wanted to see it all again.

But most of all he wanted his brother. The one he died for, more than once. The one he gave the last of the food to when they were younger. The one he carried out of the fire. The one who was his everything.

Sam, Sam, Sam.

A loud crack sprung into the silence when Dean punched the wall. The only mark made was the raw skin on his knuckles. He ignored the pain that was birthed by his attack. He needed to fight. But he couldn't. Because there nothing to fight. Nothing to kill. He was trapped, a wild animal in a cage. He couldn't do anything.

Nothing, nothing, nothing!!

He punched the wall again and the pain came forth again twofold. He didn't care. Better than nothing. The nothingness was suffocating. Only routine ever imposed. Food and drink. Piss and crap. Sleep and wake. Again and again. Weeks had blurred together, tallying now just part of the routine.

He couldn't save his brother from this prison. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling hopeless. Dean almost never felt that. It was something he tried to avoid. He only remembered feeling it four times before: when the hellhounds came, when he went to go say ‘Yes’, when Sam fell into the Cage, and when the Mark was poisoning his soul. And he was hopeless now. He couldn't save Sam, and Cas hadn't come to do so. If the seraph couldn't do it, no one else would be able.

Maybe Dean would grow old, he just never thought it would be in prison. No, no, they'd get out before that. Wouldn't they? He punched the wall once more, then slid to the ground. He didn't cry. All he did was pray. He prayed to a God he knew didn't help, he prayed to the angels he knew wouldn't help, and prayed to the one angel he knew couldn't help. He said only three words.

Please save Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~•○•~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam lay down on the uncomfortable bed, the springs within the mattress digging into his back. Sam missed his room, especially his bed. He didn't really appreciate how comfortable it was until he was in a motel.

Or in this case, a maximum security prison. Which was just great. Wonderful. Ten out of ten, would visit again. Well, he had to leave before he could do that, and who was he kidding\; when he got out, he would avoid this place like the plague. Well, ‘when’ was a hopeful term. Last time they were in prison, it wasn't one like this. Escape from this one was practically impossible. No, not practically. Actually impossible. Normally, he and Dean could do the impossible. They travelled through time, they died and came back, they stopped the Apocalypse multiple times. Those were all impossible. Escaping from this place seemed even more impossible than those.

All he and his brother could do was hope Cas pulled through. Somehow. The angel didn't know where they were and couldn't teleport anymore. Searching for the prison would be half their friends battle. How long it would take was something Sam tried to not think about.

Sam worried for Dean. His brother wouldn't like this, not one bit. Dean hated inactivity and hated being stuck, but what he hated most was being without his brother. Sam knew Dean would be miserable. Being alone wasn't Dean's forte. He needed his family.

Sam did too. He wished he could say he was made of stronger stuff, that he was independent. But he wasn't, he knew that. He couldn't be without his brother. They kept each other human, kept each other sane.

How long before he would see his brother again? Days, weeks, months....years. Sam felt a horrible feeling in his stomach. It kept coming back every time he spared a thought to his situation and the passing time he could not measure. It was fear. For his brother, for himself. Not the fear of death, just the fear of an empty life. A life without Dean, Cas, Mom, home, or hunting. 

Sam tried to sleep. Was it day or night? He couldn't tell. Even routine couldn't replace the light of day or darkness of night. To Sam it was just concrete walls, always. It was nothing when compared to his time in the Cage, but it still ate at his mind. He needed his actual life back.

Sam pressed his hands together so they were steepled on his chest.  
"Castiel. If you can, please help us."

~~~~~~~~~~~~•○•~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights flickered, the room flashing in vague periods of darkness. Castiel grimaced with each flicker, unable to cease the annoyance. It was his doing anyway. His grace was lashing out, and the lights were its victim. He crossed his arms on the table, and berated his grace and his emotions. He needed to be strong.

Footsteps approached and Castiel looked up to see Mary Winchester holding two cups, steam spilling out of them.

"Coffee?"

Castiel accepted it, not wanting to reject it and offend Mary. It wouldn’t have any effect on him, but it was, as the humans say, the thought that counts. Mary was also upset by the events that had occurred. She had every right. Dean and Sam were trapped somewhere and he didn't know how he could help them. His broken wings twitched as if to prove their uselessness, their inability to send him to the Winchester brothers. An angel who couldn't save his charges. What kind of angel couldn't even do that.

Mary sat across from him and sipped at her coffee, a sad look on her face. He had only told her a few days ago what had occurred, keeping her out of the situation so not to cause worry. She’d been angry, and he’d let her yell at him until she’d run out of steam. He was angry at himself too. He’d let them get caught, and he’d let Kelly get away. He’d been completely useless. He thought he would have saved the brothers by now. But there were still stuck, wherever they were, at the hands of the American government. He clenched the coffee cup harder. This was all his fault. The lights flickered again, causing Mary to look up.

"Is this you?" she asked cautiously.

Castiel hugged his arms closer to his chest and cast his eyes away, the lights stabilising.  
"Yes. I'm sorry."

Mary looked at him sympathetically, but didn't speak, continuing to sip her coffee. Castiel couldn't blame her; she barely knew him or his species and the powers they possessed. Angels probably weren't her first thought when she heard monster, but if she knew what angels had done - what he had done - then maybe she wouldn't hesitate to kill them. If she knew, she wouldn’t need an excuse to kill him either.

They sat in silence, but for Castiel it was not quiet. He was listening to the angels. As of yet he had heard nothing about Dean or Sam. Nobody knew where they were. Not demons, not monsters, not angels. The humans who did know were nowhere to be found. What could he do? The brothers needed his help. He heard their prayers every night. Please save Sam. Help us Cas. We need you. Where are you? Help us. Help us! 

A shattering hiss broke through the silence of his surroundings. Sparks showered down over his head, brushing down his shoulders. The room became a little darker, and for a moment, the image of a barn flittered in Castiel’s mind. The sparks disappeared, and no other lights followed in the first one’s demise. Castiel sighed, knowing Mary's eyes were on him. He looked up to the Bunker's remaining Winchester.

"I'm sorry. My grace is volatile due to my psychological state."

"You weren't like this yesterday...what happened to make it wig out so badly today?"

Castiel bowed his head in resignation.  
"....Today's Christmas."

Realisation formed on Mary’s face, soon replaced by melancholy. Her eyes shadowed over.  
"I'm still not there for Sam's first Christmas."

Castiel understood her sadness. She had died before Sam's first Christmas, and 33 years later, alive and well, she still didn't get to spend it with him. Hunters never knew if they would survive the year ahead. Every Christmas was sacred, and Mary's eyes glittered with unshed tears. She was strong, like her sons, but sometimes people had to fall apart. Sam and Dean missed their first chance to have Christmas together with their mother, and with the lives they lead, it was unknown if they would ever get another chance.

Castiel wished they were here. The angel never wished anymore; life wasn't that providing, as he had learnt. But still he wished: for the brothers, for Mary and for himself. It wouldn't come to fruition, he knew that, but even after everything that had happened the last 9 years, he still had faith. And the brothers had faith in him. He would not fail them. He didn't care what the means were to do so, he would save them. Maybe he should have faith in himself for once. Faith that he would achieve his purpose.

Castiel placed his blue gaze on his companion.   
"They may not be here this Christmas, and for that I'm sorry, but I swear to you I will save your sons. I will protect your family. Next Christmas, you will have your family together, Mary Winchester. I promise.”

Mary smiled.  
"Thank you, Castiel."

They returned to silence, the smell of coffee in the air. The lights had stopped flickering.

~~~~~~~~~~~~•○•~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night approached, though the Winchester's and their family angel didn't notice. The brother's prison hid the falling sun from them, and the bunker's walls kept the growing darkness out. For the brothers, it was just another day in the gray confines of the prison. For their mother, it was a reminder of her twisted fate. For their angel, it was a day that gave him a reason to save his friends. For all, it was a day that brought no joy.

A star, bright and beautiful, shone in the darkest part of the sky. If any had seen it since it had begun shining not so long ago, they would have noticed it dimmed on that Christmas night. One could only suspect that it was out of sadness towards the events that had come to pass. 

And thus ended the twelfth day of Christmas.


	13. The Twelfth Day of Christmas: 2016 (Alternate Post-LOTUS Timeline)

"Did you remember to put up the decorations?"

"Yes."

"Did you remember to set the table?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you remember the crackers?"

"Yes. De-"

"Did you remember to put up the tree? Did you put the presents under the tree?"

"Of course. Dean, I-"

"Did you remember to decorate the tree?"

"..."

"You forgot to decorate the tree, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't forget, Dean. The night only has so many hours. I can't achieve everything in such an insignificant time frame. I just ran out of time, that's all."

"You forgot."

"....I forgot."

Laughter sprung from Dean's lips.   
"That's alright, Cas, it's not that big a deal. We can do that before everyone gets here."

Castiel nodded, smiling slightly, obviously happy his mistake wasn't deflating Dean's happy mood. It was such a rare thing, and the angel didn't want to ruin it.

"So, apart from that, everything else is in place?" Dean asked, walking past Cas into the war room to scout out the area. The tables in the library were pushed together, a white tablecloth covering them. Plates awaited food, a napkin swan on each. Beside the cutlery that lay to the right of each plate, crackers sat dormant. Beyond the table, Dean could see tinsel and paper chains hanging on the walls. Wreaths were placed on each column, the greens contrasting the white. A tree, mighty and tall, was placed in at the steps of the Observatory, empty of any decoration, though presents could be seen underneath.

"Wow, great job buddy. Though, gotta ask: where'd you get the napkin swans?"

The angel preened.  
"I made them."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, a smirk pulling at his mouth.  
"You made....napkins swans. Since when could you do that?"

"Since last night. I watched a tutorial on YouTube."

Dean bent over in vibrant laughter as Castiel watched in confusion. Dean wiped at his eyes once his laughing fit had ended.  
"I'm sorry, man, but that's hilarious. An angel watching YouTube. I can just see it," Dean donned a dramatic voice as he continued" 'User Castiel commented: Hello God of Napkins. I am an Angel of the Lord, one of the most powerful and all knowing creatures of the universe. I am older than the Earth itself, and know more than you can possibly imagine. Could you maybe teach me how to make napkin angels? That would be quite swell. Sincerely, actual angel Castiel.'"

Castiel looked vaguely annoyed at Dean's dramatics.   
"I don't know everything Dean, and I've never said otherwise."

Dean chuckled.  
"You lack of pop culture knowledge pretty much proved that from the get go. Anyway, the napkin swans are a nice touch."

The almost smile returned to Castiel's face. Dean turned his green eyes to the front door.  
"Is Sam back yet?"

"He should return in 20 minutes."

"Great. He better get a good turkey."

Just as Cas said, 20 minutes later, the roar of the Impala could be heard as it drove into the garage. Dean and Cas travelled to the car to help Sam with the food. The Winchesters’ and their angel carried bags upon bags of food back inside. Cas was the MVP when it came to that, using his mojo to carry the heavier bags. They took them to the kitchen placing the bags down on the small table, unpacking the good onto the table. It was good amount of food, with various meats, vegetables and drinks. It was enough the feed a large group of people. And a large group of people is what they were expecting. They had planned who would do what to prepare for the grand feast they had planned: Dean would cook, Sam would make the salads and Cas would make the beverages.

They had several hours until the feast so they decided to do that all a little later. The three instead left the kitchen to decorate the tree before everyone arrived, which would be less than an hour if everyone was on time. Dean got the box of decorations and then they began to place them on the tree.

Baubles, tinsel, lights. The worked in perfect coordination born from years working together. As they neared the end of the hour, the tree was decorated save for the topper. Dean smiled in nostalgia when he pulled an angel out of the box. Unlike the one from 7 years ago, this one was metallic, a glossy silver. It's wings glittered as if diamond dust was painted on them, feathers engraved into the surface in an ornate fashiion. It would not break easy. He held it out to Cas.

"You know what happens next."

Castiel took it into his hands, noting its strength as he gripped it tight. It was sturdy, and not even a fall would break it. He held it up and placed it in its rightful place, high above the ground at the top of the tree. The light fell on its wings, making them sparkle with increased beauty.

"Perfect," commented Dean, Sam nodding in agreement. A knock at the door rang out and the three started, despite knowing people were supposed to be arriving by now. They hurried to the door, cold air flooding in as they opened it to find Crowley and Rowena on the other side.  
"Hello boys," the demon rasped, the witch waving in greeting.

Castiel and the Winchesters frowned, Dean speaking for the three.  
"What are you two doing here? We didn't invite you."

Crowley didn't flinch.  
"Love you too, puddin'. Just thought that my mother and I were considered part of the family now. You know, because we helped save the world from Lucifer. Or did you forget?"

Dean grimaced, as did his brother. Cas remained stoic.  
"No, we did not forget. You and Rowena may come in if you promise not to cause trouble."

Crowley took on an expression of mock hurt.  
"Why would you think that?"

The three glared in return. Crowley huffed.

"Fine. Yes, I promise. Mother, may I?" he said in regards to entry, a look of innocence on his face. Rowena rolled her eyes at his last comment for obvious reasons.

“Fergus and I will be as right as rain, dear. Promise,” she cooed, crossing her fingers.

 

Reluctantly, the three let them in, watching as the demon and his mother made themselves at home. Those two didn’t really have any idea of manners when it came to being a guest. They acted like a they owned the place, in every place they entered. The team went to join their hellish guests, but footsteps stopped them. 

Sam smiled when he saw that they belonged to Eileen. He pushed past Castiel and Dean to meet her. They shared a hug before beginning a quiet conversation, their hands dipping and twisting as the spoke in sign language, which Sam had been learning since they last met. Castiel seemed to understand what was being 'spoken' whilst Dean just looked on in utter confusion, creating a role reversal between him and his angel friend. Castiel's concentration, and Dean's attempt at it, was broken when a car was heard driving down the road. It neatly parked beside Eileen's. Jody, Alex and Claire exited.

Castiel smiled, and unlike his almost smiles, this one was wide and reached his eyes. He headed beeline to Claire. Despite her attempt not to, she couldn't help but smile as well. They hugged, tight and affectionate, and began speaking just as Eileen and Sam went to meet the others.

Jody hugged the brothers.  
"You've not killed anymore undead dictators since last time, have you?"

Sam chuckled as he said no, Dean looking mildly disappointed that they hadn't achieve that feat again. Jody turned her head to Castiel, who had separated from Claire and had entered this new conversation.

"So, you're Castiel. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand to him. He shook it, tilting his head to the side after his hand had returned to his side.

"And you are Jody Mills. I too have been told about you. Claire says you are a good carer."

Jody shrugged.  
"I do my best. Should we head inside? It's freezing out here."

Complying to her request, the boys ushered them in, telling them to get comfortable. They themselves stayed at the door. There was still someone they were waiting for. A few minutes passed before they arrived, in a car akin to the Impala, it's owner wearing clothing very much like the brothers’ attire. Mary Winchester stepped out of the car, and her son's raced out to meet her. Castiel watched as the family hugged gleefully and greeted each other. Even Dean was smiling, past woes forgotten.

The brothers led their mom in, their angel tagging along. He was happy to just listen to the Winchester family murmur cheerfully betwixt themselves. They reached the library where the other guests were waiting. They found Rowena doing party tricks for the girls, using magic to make snow fall from her overturned palm. Crowley was drinking the whiskey as he watched. The demon always ended up drinking all their liquor. The Winchesters’ ignored it for now. It was Christmas; might as well let him have some fun. Dean strode forward, and took on his 'I'm about to make an uplifting speech so listen up bitches' face. Everyone ignored him, too busy with Rowena’s magi. He pursed his lips and waited. When nobody noticed him, save for Cas, Mary and Sam, who were watching the whole display in quiet amusement, he cleared his throat loudly, causing the seated guests to face him. He gave a proud smirk before saying his announcement.

"Just want to thank you for all for coming. It's great that you all came, and we're happy that you're here. Food should be ready in a few hours. We'll go prepare that soon. But once we're done with that, you guys should grab some coats 'cause we're going to have a snow battle."

There was quiet cheers from the girls, dark chuckles from Crowley and Rowena (and oh, that wasn’t suspicious at all), and shrugs from Mary and Jody. All in all, a resounding yes.

The brothers went to prepare the food. Dean was going to cook the sausages, fish and pork just before the feast was served, but the turkey had to be cooking for 4 hours, so he began preparing that as Sam made the salads. Meanwhile, Castiel remained with the guests, left to entertain them, which in retrospect, seemed an odd plan on the brothers’ behalf based on his social skills. Yeah, they’d developed since he had first met the Winchesters, but they were far from excellent. So, instead of talking, Castiel changed tactics, with Rowena's mini flurry of snow giving the angel an idea.

The brothers returned after they had prepared their set dishes to find the library and the adjacent war room covered in snow, which appeared to be falling from the ceiling as if it were the sky. It was full on Hogwarts weather magic, and the two Winchesters could only stare, stunned. The tables seemed unaffected by the phenomenon. The guests were playing around in it as Castiel sat, a look of faint concentration on his face, managing to watch the other's as well. The Winchesters concluded Cas was the cause of this impromptu snowfall inside the Bunker. Dean nudged the angel's shoulder. Cas turned to look at him, and the snow didn’t even falter. Dean pointed towards the blanket of white on the floor.

"I didn't know you could control the weather."

"I created a storm the first time we met," Cas explained lackadaisically. Dean’s eyes widened, and he made a quiet ‘oh’ sound. The angel continued without acknowledging Dean’s moment of sudden realisation.

"It is simple enough to make snow. All I need to do is increase the moisture in the air and then reduce the temperature of the water created to form snow. Gabriel taught me how. Though he used it for….more nefarious purposes. Let’s just say not all the Ice Ages were natural."

Dean raised an eyebrow at that whilst Sam blinked as he had his own moment of shocking realisation. The others didn’t react, too busy staring in awe (or at least appreciation when it came to Rowena) at the falling flakes. 

The snow ceased at Dean's request, the fallen snow disappearing from existence. Before they could be disappointed, Dean told the others to get their warm clothing and head outside. They followed his instructions and soon everyone was out in the snow, all donned in warm clothes except Crowley and Castiel, who remained in their usual attire. Despite the snow that had been falling inside, the outside air was much colder. No one particularly cared because they were all down to play a game of snow dodgeball.

Teams were set: Sam, Cas, Eileen, Rowena and Alex verses Dean, Crowley, Jody, Mary and Claire. And wow, was it a hell of a game. The stuff legends are made of, the kind kids would cry about for not being apart of. It was like a war between two perfectly matched teams, a flurry of snow arrows performing dog fights in the sky. Dean, Mary and Sam's perfected hunting skills gave them an advantage above the other humans, their aim impeccable. When attacking each other, however, they never seemed to manage a hit. Dodging a missile was as ingrained in them as firing one. Eileen and Sam's silent communication worked wonders, allowing guerilla tactics to come into play. Cas seemed to know where every enemy player was, and his aim was always true no matter the distance or angle. Dean always gave away his position by yelling in annoyance when he got hit suddenly by one of the angel’s snowballs. Jody, Claire and Alex weren't the MVPs per se, but they held their own. Meanwhile, Crowley ended up only targeting Rowena throughout the whole game, who seemed to follow suit.

Though they set a 'no powers' rule, it didn't last long. Eventually Crowley began teleporting, giving himself an unfair advantage. Rowena used various spells for various reasons, thankfully none of them too weird, though Cas’ hair was still tinted pink weeks later. He didn’t even seem to care. The angel seemed to be the only one that didn't break the rule, sticking to throwing them by hand. At one point in the game, a yell of revenge from Dean sparked an one-on-one between him and Cas as the others continued fighting around them. Castiel and Dean were well matched, but sometimes even a hunter can't beat an angel, and Dean eventually lost. Again (though Cas did remind him on the fact that it was Lucifer the previous time, which didn't make the hunter feel any better).

The overall snow war went on for two and half hours. Neither team surrendered to the other, only conceding when the cold became beyond horrid. The teams shook hands in mutual agreement that no one had won, and the group entered the bunker once more.

Dean and Cas went to the kitchen, the latter to make eggnog and the former to cook the rest of the meat and check on the turkey. Sam entertained the guest with stories of previous hunts. Mary listened the most intensely, curious yet fearful of what her sons’ lives had been like in the years she’d been dead.

When half an hour had passed, the guests each with a cup of eggnog, Sam, Dean and Cas carried the volumes of food to the table. The turkey was the centrepiece, steam cascading as it rose from it. And there was a lot to choose from. Dean felt his mouth water at the buffet he himself had had a hand in. Looking back to that Christmas Sam and him had after Dad disappeared, that feast had nothing on this. It extended across the whole table, and the ogling looks of the guests made Dean feel immense pride in his cooking. 

The group began picking up their preferred choices and eating happily (save Castiel and Crowley, who just watched and talked with the others). It was far from quiet. Conversations filled the room with its melody. Many compliments were given to the chefs as the group ate their meals. Once the food was finished, with either groans from being full, or sighs that all the food had been eaten. There wasn’t even leftovers. With the Christmas feast gone, crackers began being snapped. No one dared to go against Castiel, having heard the tale of how he once beat even the Winchesters’. Eventually, everyone, even Castiel thanks to the charity of Claire, had a funny joke (Which letter does the Christmas alphabet not have? It has Nöel! ), a paper crown and a small toy. Dean and Sam had to stop themselves from laughing when Castiel wore one of the crowns on his head, looking completely unperturbed by the fact.

Anecdotes were told and laughter rang through the walls. Sam helped fill the blanks for Eileen, and Dean went to help Cas with pop culture references that were mentioned, each time forgetting that the angel actually understood them. Jody, Rowena and Mary got along, as most mothers do. Claire and Cas to anyone else would truly have looked like father and daughter as they spoke to each other, alike to how Mary was with Dean and Sam. Alex and Eileen got along quite well despite the barrier of speech.

Alcohol came along eventually, and only the girls (begrudgingly) and Castiel didn't drink. Everyone was to stay the night, so driving under the influence would not be a problem. Laughter increased tenfold as the older members imbibe glasses of liquor. Castiel and the girls watched with embarrassment as the others became crazier and looser. If there was some drunk dancing, it would never be mentioned until the day someone needed to blackmail one of the others. The day soon weared thin, but nobody noticed, the walls not allowing the fading sun to condemn their joy. It kept all the horrors out. The British Men of Letters, Kelly and the Nephilim, all of it. This one day was an escape from all of that.

The group ended up watching a movie when the night was in full bloom. Multiple movies began their campaign for election, the slurred voices of their sponsors backing them up with positive attributes. Eventually, at a majority vote based on admiration and nostalgia, It's A Wonderful Life was chosen. Dean and Sam grinned groggily when Castiel's eyes lit up in recognition. He remember watching it all those years ago with Bobby, his first real Christmas. Dean also berated Claire and Alex for not having watched it, deeming their whole generation ‘uncultured’. They put on the film, closed captions in place for Eileen.

Many had lost their battle to sleep by the time the movie was half over. Eileen, Jody and the girls were all asleep, their deep breaths proving their slumber. Crowley and Rowena had left the Bunker altogether, off doing some lesser evil probably. Cas, Sam, Dean and Mary remained awake, in comfortable silence as the movie played.

"Hey Mom," Sam whispered as the movie was nearing its end, loud enough for everyone conscious to hear, yet quiet enough not to wake those sleeping. "Thanks for coming. It means alot."

Mary smiled affectionately.   
"Of course I'd come. This is our first Christmas together. I couldn't miss that."

Sam hummed.  
"I guess you’re right. Merry Christmas, Mom."

Dean joined in, managing to sound halfway sober as he spoke.  
"Yeah, really thanks. I got my perfect Christmas. Really, you have no idea how happy I am right now. My whole family is here. I couldn't ask for anything more."

The listeners smiled at his words as the end music of the movie played. The final hour of Christmas ticked by. Castiel spoke next.

"I've only had a few Christmases in my lifetime. They were not always joyful, as you know. Christmas isn't a day that bars pain or misery. It is a day that lets us escape it, through love and happiness. And I must thank you, for this Christmas truly managed to do so. You all have my gratitude."

"Ooh, sappy,” Dean teased, before becoming more serious. “And, hey, Cas, you don't need to thank us. You are part of the reason it was great. You're part of our little family, and you know what they say, family means nobody gets left behind."

"Did you just quote Lilo and Stitch?" Sam exclaimed quietly.

"Shuddup. It's a great movie. Lots of Elvis."

"If you say so.”

Mary chuckled despite having absolutely no idea who Lilo or Stitch was. Her boys were happy, and that made her happy.

The final minute came forth as the little family fell asleep. In all the day's activity, the presents under the tree and in the guest's cars remained wrapped, forgotten for now, to be opened the next day. The angel watched over the sleeping humans lovingly, happy to be a part of all their lives. Every struggle, every horror, every moment had lead up to this, had brought these people together. All pieces of a greater puzzle.

The final minute ended without a sound, nor a last hurrah. The world didn't utter morosely as the day faded away, nor slow time to make it last. One moment it was Christmas, the next it was not. The happiness did not fade or lessen. The day wasn't the cause if it. It was the people. As they remained, so would the joy.

And thus ended the twelfth day of Christmas.


	14. The Thirteenth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final and longest chapter. I was planning on about 2000 words or so in order for me to finish it in time for Boxing Day. Well, that didn't happen. I think I went a little overboard, but hey, 6000 words, that's not the worst I've done. 
> 
> I think this chapter turned out pretty well. I wanted it to be nice and poetic, because most of my endings are like that. After having so many chapters from mostly Dean's POV, I wanted this one to be purely from Sam's perspective, because really, this whole story was about him accepting the holiday and the joy of it. But you never know, next year, this story might have an extra chapter. For now, this is the end my friends.
> 
> So enjoy, and hope you have a Merry Christmas.

Sam swiped at the touchpad on his laptop, and the pictures on the screen moved upwards lazily. The news seemed bland as always, but he really couldn’t tell. He was too tired to read the words. He as of yet had only found the strength to read one article, and that was because it promised locations of Christmas themed festivals in America. He was thinking of taking Jack to one, seeing as it was the kid’s first Christmas. It was just a thought, and seeing as it was Christmas today, it was unlikely he’d ever get round to showing Jack any. He sipped at his coffee, and felt the warm liquid slide down his throat. It didn’t help much. He hadn’t had much sleep lately. None of them had really, what with Lucifer out and about. Again. For like the twentieth time. Gosh, that guy sure was repetitive. Hopefully he wasn’t out making siblings for Jack. 

Sam closed the laptop and groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He needed a break. He’d been searching for any signs of the Devil for the last few weeks ever since the Asmodeus debacle, and apart from a few missing devil costumes and a missing faith healer, nothing appeared to be related to the infernal archangel. At this point, it didn’t even look like Lucifer was in America. He was probably in Hell, be it ‘Hell, Infernum’ or ‘Hell, Michigan’. The dude was tacky, so the latter seemed like a reasonable place for him to be. The sounds of shoes on concrete echoed down the hall, and Sam turned in time to see Dean stumble into the kitchen like a Walking Dead extra.

“Coffee,” Dean muttered, more a statement than a question. Sam pointed to the remains of the coffee he had killed. Dean gave him his own variety of The Bitch Face  
as he eyed the small amount of coffee available to him. He raised a questioning and incredibly annoyed eyebrow.

“Hey man, don’t look at me like that. I’m been up since dawn searching for Satan. You should be glad there’s any left,” Sam defended. 

Dean grumbled as he made coffee, but sighed gratefully when he took his first sip. He sat across from Sam with the cup, and slurped not to quietly at it. Sam gave him a long-suffering look as he drank his own coffee, but it was a companionable almost-silence (with the ever present ‘swwrrp’ of coffee being drunk with greedy passion). After some time, Dean frowned. He twisted in his chair and looked down the hall before giving a confused look to Sam.

“Where’s Cas? Hell, where’s Mum and Jack? I can’t hear any of ‘em,” Dean said.

Sam pursed his lips.  
“Huh. Valid question. No idea.”

Dean took a long draught from his drink and placed the empty cup back on the table.  
“Well,l I’ll go look for them. Make sure they’re okay.”

“I’ll come with you. If I have to read any more articles about kids accidentally sending their Christmas lists to Satan, I’m going to light my laptop on fire.”

“Woah, that bad,” Dean jested.

“That bad,” Sam confirmed. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Seriously, dude, I need to get away for a bit. It’s friggin Christmas Day, man…” He paused, sucking on his lip, before giving Dean a determined look. “Hey, you know what, when we find them, why don’t we take a trip?”

Dean quirked his head.  
“A trip? The non-drug related kind of trip, right?”

“Yes, Dean. The normal kind of trip. To...somewhere, I dunno. I’m just done with sitting around looking for Lucifer. He hasn’t done anything too maniacal yet, and he still thinks Jack’s missing. But when he realises his kid’s here, he will be coming beeline for the Bunker. And I don’t want to just wait here for that to happen. So, what d’you say?”

Dean gazed off towards something unseen, and smiled.  
“That sounds nice, actually. I’m in. Can I pick where we’re going, though? I’ve got a good idea of where we should go.”

“Sure. But you’re driving, jerk.”

The older Winchester scoffed.  
“Like I’d let you drive, bitch.”

“Boys, language.”

Dean and Sam turned to the door to find Mary, arms crossed, giving them both a look of fond exasperation. The Winchester boys mumbled their apologies.

“You two are not morning people, are you? We’ve been waiting up on you,” Mary said.

“Hey, not all of us are sleepless celestials or femme fatales like you, Mom,” Dean replied, looking despondently to his empty cup as if to emphasize his point. 

“I don’t think think that means what you think it means,” Sam murmured to his brother. Dean squinted at him.

“Anyway,” Mary intervened with upturned lips, “we have a surprise for you two. In the library.”

“A good kind of surprise?” Dean asked. When Mary nodded, he smirked. “Awesome. Be right there. Sam, race ya?”

“No, no Dean, no,” Sam warned. It was too late, however, for the older sibling had already pushed himself briskly off his chair and had dashed to door. Sam threw his arms up in annoyance, before calling to his wayward brother “Dean, really? We’re seriously doing this. I can’t bel-, fine, fine!, but you’re going to have to eat my dust!”

Sam threw himself off his chair and ran towards the door, sparing an apologetic glance to his mother. She had a raised eyebrow, one that read ‘is this normal for you two?’. Sam just snickered as he smiled in confirmation, before disappearing down the hall after his brother.

Thank God for his long limbs. It made Dean’s head start look like he was a grandma in a marathon, because Sam soon spotted Dean racing down the hall ahead of him, trying to maintain his lead. Which he was failing at exceptionally well, because Sam was soon a few paces behind him. Dean didn’t even turn around as he cursed, knowing his taller (and younger and healthier, etc etc) brother was catching up. The lead shortened until it was non-existent, and the brothers were side by side, pushing down the hall. The tie didn’t last for too long, because Sam managed to shove past his brother. He hollered in glee as he leapt over the imaginary finish line into the War Room, stopping just at the edge of the library steps. Yep, he still got it. He spun to face his brother, who mere seconds later reached him, and gave him a proud smile. The kind that provokes any older sibling to deny events leading to that certain smile. Dean wasn’t an exception.

He growled in annoyance. His only dignity was that he wasn’t out of breath.  
“You asshat. You cheated.”

“I cheated?” Sam exclaimed incredulously. Dean waved his hands at Sam’s general figure.

“You cheated with your long legs. I say we take two and this time I get a bigger head start.”

“I think you’re just a sore loser.” Sam chuckled. “You’re a Losechester!”

Dean gave him a flat look.  
“I can’t believe we’re related.”

Sam went to argue against that, cause, come on, Dean had said some weird ass stuff worse than even that, but Dean’s widening eyes stopped him. Dean was looking pass his shoulder, to something in the library. And it was a look of absolute shock. Not much could startle the older Winchester, so Sam prepared himself for something major. He hadn’t actually taken to time to look into the room, too busy beating Dean’s sorry ass, just like he said he would. It was only Mary’s earlier words that stopped him from tensing up, because he knew whatever awaited them in the library was nothing bad. Hopefully, anyway. Not like their Mom couldn’t lie, the whole British Men of Letters being proof of that, but she hadn’t seemed like she was hiding the Devil or whatever in the library. So, he turned.

And he blinked. Several times in fact. It was a few blinks kind of thing. He shared a look with Dean, who eyed him with a expression mirroring his own. They simultaneously returned to staring at what was in the library.

There was a huge statue of ice, arms outspread and face raised to the heavens. Its face was peaceful, empty eyes somehow brimming with sacred energy. A flowing robe graced its perfectly poised limbs, the fabric like unruffled waves across the clear flesh. Ice crystals, made to appear like snowflakes, floated above the figure’s upturned palms, spinning in delicate circles like ballet dancers hearing some silent song. This in itself made the figure seemed beyond human, but there was more to the sculpture. Wings furled out from its back, raised high and curling at the tips, feathers brushing the ceiling. The feathers were precise, the vanes intricate and lifelike. The figure was carved perfectly, not a flaw in sight. If it weren’t for the ice, it would have looked like a true angel. 

But it wasn’t the figure itself that was making Sam stare. That was only part of it. It was the fact it was floating, high above the table of the library - and that it was surrounded by cold stars, each glimmering brilliantly in the dim light of the room - like some glorious reenactment of a Biblical scene, that made Sam unable to look away. He couldn’t help but feel that doing so would be sacrilegious, though he knew enough about Heaven and its inhabitants to know they wouldn’t care. But the ice sculpture was beautiful, and even Dean seemed memorised. 

Its wings shifted. Sam took a startled step back along with his brother. They watched, stock still, as the ice angel tilted its head down towards them, wings twitching in tiny flutters. Hands moved to face them, and the crystal snowflakes that hovered above the palms followed. It stayed like that for a while, the snowflakes dancing side by side in union. Then, the angel gently flicked its fingers outwards, and the snowflakes released themselves from the hallowed skin, taking flight towards the brothers. Beside him, Sam noticed Dean giving the approaching snowflakes an unsure look. Sam gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, knowing what was happening was not something to be afraid of. The snowflakes stopped above their heads, hanging like halos. Then, without preamble, the snowflakes exploded. But it wasn’t spark of ice that rained down on them, but snow, glittering like comets as they fell down on their heads.

Sam grinned in delight, and he heard Dean laugh with joy as snow decorated his hair. Sam shook his head fondly as he watched his brother poke out his tongue, but he himself was soon doing the same. The ice angel glided forward, wings still raised high. The stars followed, and made themselves at home around the War Room. They still gleamed, ambivalent towards the change of lighting. It was as if their light came from within. The angel bowed its head, and the stars began to turn to snow, falling apart like dust blown away in the wind. The stars shattered in slow motion, and the remnants sprinkled down, only to never meet the floor. It was like time had stopped in a snowstorm, the flakes still and unmoving, shining as bright as the stars they were once a part of. Sam spun in wonder, gazing at the snow that surrounded them, before turning to the angel. It had placed its hands on its chest, right above where its heart would have been. It wings twitched just before the feathers began to turn to snow. The rest of the angel followed, serene as it faded away, its dust joining with the rest of the timeless snow.

All save the light that remained, just where the heart of the angel had been. It was like star in the distance brought in close, an intimate glimpse of the star’s beauty, not tarnished by any logic or science. It was beautiful, that forlorn star in the midst of lawless snow, all held like a precious secret inside that old, brick-walled room. No one but those present would ever see something so beautiful, and that was why it was so sacred. Because it was just for them. The star, just like all its brethren before it, shone for a fleeting moment, before falling to pieces. And as it fell, so did the snow, gathering on the ground as a thin blanket. The map was saved from the white veil, the world glowing as if proof that world was still managing to survive on its own, still turning despite all the hits it’d taken in the last few years. Earth and its inhabitants were stubborn like that. 

Two figures appeared in the doorway of the library, stopping just at the rim of the War Room. The taller one, had eyes of blue, framed by wrinkles and crow's feet, and hair that shot out in every direction like feathers battered by gale winds. The figure wore a long coat the colour of coffee, darker in tone than the one lost long ago. This one, however, was more fitting than that one would be now, as this one matched the wearer’s heavier heart and the wisdom earned through pain, misfortune, but also through love and loyalty. One could almost forget there was a holy power that existed amongst all that, hiding under the calm smiles and warm eyes. Almost. 

The other figure was in a flannel shirt much the same colour of the coat, with eyes just as powerful as the other’s, though without the weight of years upon years of existence. Yet, a burden still lived in those youthful eyes. It was there, ever present, a parasitic darkness that clung, persistent and determined. That did not, however, mean it was all-consuming. There was light too. It was a battle everyone else only could capture a shadowed glance at, just a fleeting moment of seeing the creatures hiding in the depths, that let them know the kid was not human, and was not someone to mess with. 

For all the strangeness of those two figures, they were beyond familiar to Sam and his brother. They’d shared secrets, promises, wishes, everything, with these two people. They were not just friends. They were family, born not from shared blood, but spilt blood. They’d seen Hell, gazed into the abyss together, and survived. Not even the whispers of the Devil could break the bond forged through hellfire (and also dinosaurs, because that whole fiasco actually had acted as a giant bonding exercise). Cas and Jack would always be family, no matter what. Sam smiled at them, because that’s all he could do, still overwhelmed by what he’d just seen.

“That was….” Sam began when he finally could speak. He shook his head, having no word that could summarise what he had just seen.

“Awesome,” Dean finished. “So friggin’ awesome. How the hell did you do that?”

Cas gave Jack a knowing look. Jack returned it before giving Dean and Sam a wicked grin.

“Angels never reveal their secrets. And you wouldn't be able to do it if you knew how anyway.”

“Hey, that’s….uh, speciest? Yeah, speciest! No fair guys,” Dean said.

That argument somehow worked, because Cas gave Dean a sincere look of pity.

“Well, if you truly wish to know, it’s all of matter of knowing how to manipulate atoms, and the speed of their vibrations. You see, snow and ice are quite different, seeing as one is frozen vapour and the other is frozen water, and therefore their atoms are quite different. Creating a transition between these two states can be done by-”

Dean held up placating hands.  
“Hey, you know what, nevermind. I’m good. But….that sure was something.”

Jack preened at the praise and Cas smiled down at him affectionately, and then towards the door. Sam turned to see his Mom leaning against the frame. Her cheeks were raised, lifted by a grand smile.

“That was perfect, Cas, Jack. Thank you,” she said appreciatively.

“It was no problem, we assure you. Always happy to share in the festivities of Christmas,” Cas replied.

Sam quirked his head.  
“Was this your idea, Mom?”

“A little,” she shrugged as she stepped towards them. Her eyes flicked to the side, and Sam noticed they were shining with wistful tears. “I used to say to you both, every night, that angels were watching over you. I know that all those years I was gone, those words were of no comfort. But I’m here now, and I promise, this time, it won’t just be angels watching over you. I will be too.”

Sam felt his mouth tremble, and before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a tight hug. It didn’t take long for Dean to join in, his hand wrapping around Sam and their Mom, his head resting in the nook between Sam and Mary’s shoulders. It was awkward, but not because it was weird, but because they were so tall in contrast to their mom. Nevertheless, the hug was perfect. Sam breathed in the faint scent of Mary’s cherry blossom perfume, which mixed with smell of dust and gun smoke that was perpetually attached to all their clothing. 

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered into their ears.

Sam tightened his grip around his mom, feeling his heart swell with those words. For a long long time, he never thought he’d hear his mom say those words. She’d been dead, gone, not even a half-forgotten memory. Just a person he never knew, a character from a fairytale he never got to read. Dean had known her, had heard her speak and seen her smile, had felt her love and shared family Christmases with her. He’d felt her loss more than Sam ever could, felt that sorrow all the more whenever another December had passed without joy. He’d known what life was like before hunting, before it was a series of motel rooms and a trail of blood corpses. Family life was something Dean got to have for four precious years. Sam got the smoke of the candle that’d gone out, that Dean and John had carried around like it was still lit. Knowing her now, feeling her arms around his shoulders, he knew why’d they fought for so long and so harshly. Mary might’ve not been everything Dean remembered, or what Sam expected, but she was still a mother he would have loved to have growing up. But, getting to have her be here now, was still pretty great. He was just happy to finally have a Christmas with her. Just as Jack was having his first Christmas, Sam was having the first he never got when he was younger.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Sam said, in chorus with Dean. 

She pulled away from the hug.  
“So I heard you two talking about a ‘trip’?....”

“Oh, Kaia said those weren’t that fun,” Jack bemoaned. Cas peered at him in confusion, the only person in the whole room who didn’t know what Jack was referring to.

“Not that kind of trip,” Sam assured. Okay, he really needed to start using another word for ‘trip’. “No, I thought it’d be good to get away for a bit. Dean’s choosing the destination.”

“Sure am. Already got one in mind. And if we want to get there before tomorrow, we need to leave soon.”

“Where’re we going?” Mary asked.

Dean’s smile was eerily similar to the kind of smile someone who had just robbed you blind and was waiting for you to discover the fact for yourself would have.  
“You’ll figure it out, trust me.”

“So I guess I need to pack, huh, and get ready for a day in the car?” Mary asked.

“Double tick. Okay,” Dean said, clapping his hands. “Christmas Road Trip! Get packing. We’re leaving in half an hour!”

It was like the bulls had been let loose from the gate. The Bunker became a rush of activity as the inhabitants began flurrying to get all the necessary items they needed. Seeing as Dean wasn’t giving them any particular details about the location, Sam and the others just gathered a range of clothing and all hoped to god Dean was packing items like fur coats or sunscreen that would suit the location. Dean spent most of the time on his phone, and from what Sam saw before Dean hid it away, he was booking a room. So, with that knowledge, Sam packed for an overnight stay. Though he was always prepared for several night stays, having grown up on the road. Mary noticed, and she and Jack began packing in a similar fashion.

Twenty minutes passed and everyone had a duffel bag of clothing and toiletries. Well, save Cas. He’d actually hadn’t moved much during the rush (half-)hour. All he needed was his coat, Jack and the Winchesters, and a form of transport. Cas was a happy camper no matter where they were going. Hell, Jack was barely affected by temperature, hygiene issues or sleep, so he was only packing for the thrill of it, really. If he wanted, he could just flap them all to wherever they were going, but Sam decided against asking for that. Dean found comfort in driving, and it was a chance for the five of them to share some free time together.

The group threw their bags into the car, and got into their seats. Out of respect, Sam let Mary sit in the front with Dean, joining Castiel and Jack in the back. Dean smirked at that, and Sam gave him the ‘shuddup or I swear I will kick you where it hurts’. Dean’s smirk fled very quickly.

“Okay,” he said as he revved the engine. “Let’s get this trip on the way. Few hours on the road, just the five of us. And seeing as I’m the driver, I get to chose the soundtrack.”

There was a choir of groans from the rest of the group. 

“Bah bah bah, nope, that’s the rule. Deal with it. And also, I have great taste in music, so quit your whinin’.”

As if to prove his point, Dean pulled a cassette and pushed a few buttons. He leaned back with a smug expression. The sound of calm drumming and sour keys started up, filling the car with the beat, followed soon by the rugged singing of John Fogerty. Dean held up a finger.

“This right here is music. Jack, you should pay attention. Don’t want you getting contaminated by what they call music nowadays.”

“Say the guy who listens to ‘Roar’. Repeatedly,” Sam quipped. 

“Well, well, uh, you listen to country. And hair metal,” Dean said in disgust. Sam raised an eyebrow, the ‘oh you’re going there huh’ eyebrow. It meant business. 

“Boys,” Mary reprimanded. 

“He started it,” Sam insisted.

“I swear, Sam, I will play ‘Ruby Tuesday’ if you don’t quit bitchin’”

“Oh god,” Sam swallowed. 

“Boys,” Mary repeated more forcefully. She gave them both a look before they could start arguing again.

“Sorry,” they murmured.

Dean pressed the pedal down, and the Impala sauntered out of the garage and onto the dirt track. Soon, they were on the road heading westward through the plains of Kansas. Conversation filtered through the music, and it did so for the rest of the way. Even when they were talking, Jack and Castiel seemed to be listening intently to the songs that Dean played, like they were learning them and their rhythm. Dean had that proud smile he always wore when people enjoyed the same music as him. Sam had to give it to him; he did have a pretty good taste in music. He would never tell Dean that though, or he’d never hear the end of it.

The day, though long due to most of it being spent in the car, was a simple kind of calm. It was nice driving down the two lane asphalt, through the American landscape and through the towns alive with Christmas. Jack peered out to these in wonder, and once Dean even stopped to buy him a novelty gift and some eggnog to go for the kid. When they passed through Albuquerque, Sam knew where they were going. Somewhere they always had wanted to go in their adult lives. Somewhere that they kept passing every time they crossed the country, always too busy with a case or an Apocalypse to find time to enjoy it. Sam smiled at his brother as the Impala rumbled merrily. It made sense. Of course Dean would chose to go there. The Grand Canyon, one of the greatest natural phenomenon in America, and Dean’s long time dream destination. Then again, maybe they were going to Las Vegas, but Sam doubted Dean would bring their mom and Jack (and even Cas) to that crazy city.

He was right in the end. Long after the sun had left the sky, they reached the Grand Canyon Village. But they didn’t head to whatever hotel Dean had booked. No, they headed right through the village towards Yavapai Point. Given the late hour and winter chill, they found a park easily. They didn’t get out right away. Dean sat, looking out through the Impala to the dim outline of the canyon under the sparkling night sky.. Sam knew why Dean was hesitating. It wasn’t because he was tired after the almost 16 hour drive, or that he was overwhelmed. It was because, all those years of travelling, hunting, killing, fighting, you name it, and this was the first time since forever that they’d been here. Last time, they’d been knee-high and naive, yet to understand loss and gore and horror. Dean had aspired to have something come out of that pain, and for some time, it was the idea of him and Sam seeing the canyon, just the two of them. It’d kept him going.

Dean didn’t want the beauty of the dream to vanish. He didn’t want it to be all for naught, and Sam could see that all in the tremble of Dean’s lips. Sam leaned forward and put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. The dream was never going to be the way Dean wanted. It’d taken years to get here, longer than they ever thought, and it wasn’t just them anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. Castiel had been with them for years, muddling through alongside them. They had Mom and Jack along for the ride now too, and long before them, they had Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Ellen and Jo. They were never alone, not really. Even when they lost people, there was always someone standing there with them to help them through it. ‘Just the two of them’ had become void years ago. Besides, it wasn’t the Grand Canyon they came to see. It was what it represented. Sam didn’t have to say any of that, but Dean understood, and with a smile he opened the door.

None of them spoke as they wandered to the lookout. It was thoughtful quiet, and when they reached the fence at the edge of the cliff, they all stared out wordlessly. The moon and its stars shone down, painting the orange ridges blue under their light. The stars were as beautiful as the ones that Cas and Jack had made before, and the canyon was made all the more beautiful through them. The synergy of the earth and the sky was awe inspiring, and even Cas seemed entranced by the sight. Jack was eyeing it with unfettered amazement, having not seen anything like it before. Dean just looked happy, in that simple way.

“Worth the drive, right?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so. Hael did a good job,” Cas commented. Everyone just smiled whilst secretly wondering what the hell he was going on about.

“Are there more places like this?” Jack asked curiously. 

“Tonnes. If Earth’s got anything going for it, it’s nature,” Dean said. He turned to the others, with a smirk. “Hey, what’d you say we go head down Bright Angel track tomorrow. See more of this up close.”

“Bright Angel? Really? Subtle, Dean,” Sam said with a shake of his head. Cas and Jack shared an amused look to the side. 

“I think that sounds like a lovely idea,” Mary said. 

Dean grinned.  
“Awesome. For now, let’s just stay here. Cause this is perfect.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam said, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder. Dean didn’t even attempt to shrug it off.

They stayed for some time, just watching the Earth turn, and the night pass, till the eleventh hour, when they left to go to their lodge back in the Village. It was homely, large, with two seperate rooms for the beds and three more for the kitchen, living room and bathroom. It was bigger than the motel room’s he was used to, and Sam was surprised Dean managed to nab it, given the time of the year. Stroke of luck, or maybe Chuck was feeling a little generous. Mary got the master bedroom, Dean took the same room as Sam, while Cas and Jack ended up in the living room. 

Sam threw his bag on the ground and fell onto his bed. After hours of just watching nature, he was at bliss. Didn’t stop him from being sore and tired from the long car trip. But, he was happy, and the others were happy. So, forgetting his mortal toils, he was overall quite relaxed and plain overjoyed to have finally seen the Grand Canyon properly. No silly donkey’s this time. He laughed at the memory, happy not to have to think about Lucifer or any of the other crap.

Escaping reality for a while was nice, and he always found Christmas to be a nice excuse to do so for a while. Then again, he wasn’t really escaping reality. He was just escaping all the crap. Without that, his life was actually nice. He had good friends, a loving family, a house that was always warm and welcoming. Those was what made all the crap worth it. He turned his head to the side. Dean and Mary were talking quietly between themselves, and from what did overhear, it was them reminiscing about those Christmases long ago shared. Sam decided it best not to join in. He wouldn’t be able to have any input anyway. Sighing, he closed his eyes.

“Sam.”

Sam peered through his lashes to see Castiel hovering beside the bed, staring at him. Jack was nowhere in sight, probably watching television or something. The nephilim sure did love TV, and Cas hadn’t been the greatest influence when he introduced Jack to the art of binge watching. It was actually kind of weird seeing Cas by himself, because whenever Jack was nearby, the angel barely left his side. After the whole Asmodeus incident, Cas was being all the more vigilant and overprotective. Cas would have seemed quite calm, staring down serenely at Sam with hands resting in his pockets, if not for the apprehensive quirk of his mouth. Sam sat up.

“What’s up, Cas?”

Castiel cast a quick glance to Dean before sitting beside Sam. His hands fiddled inside his pockets, the fabric rustling with the movement. It was all very suspicious, and Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. Cas furrowed his brows as he stared down at his lap.

“I was speaking to Dean the other day, and he told me that many years ago, you gave him a toy Impala for Christmas. Is that correct?” the angel queried. He spoke quietly, so not for Mary and Dean to overhear. Sam copied the volume, just in case whatever this was about was meant to be a secret.

“Yeah. He lost it, though. Around the time he died, I think. It was never a big deal, so we kind of forgot about it, what with everything that’s happened over the last few years. Why do you ask?”

“Well, uh, Jack and I made something for you to give him.”

 

Cas pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and lifted it towards Sam. On the angel’s palm, there was a little Impala model, similar to the original toy had given Dean, save for the fact it was made entirely out of ice, and glowing ever so slightly. Cas nodded to Sam’s hands, implying for him to hold it. Sam took it into his grip, and gasped when he found it not at all cold. It felt warm, actually. He cast a surprised look to Castiel. The angel shrugged casually.

“We experimented whilst we were working on the angel for you and Dean. This,” he said, pointing the ice Impala,” won’t ever melt, and is unaffected by any form of temperature or harm. It will remain like this until some form of angelic power damages it. After hearing about the toy Impala, I thought Dean would like to be given this.”

Sam stared at it, stroking the wheels, feeling the rims under his fingertips.  
“But you and Jack made it. Why don’t you two give it to him?”

“Because it would mean more to him if it was you who presented him with it.”

Cas smiled earnestly. Instead of returning one of his own, Sam pulled the angel into a hug. Cas made a surprised noise, freezing under Sam’s arms, but eventually he softened. They stayed there for a bit, enjoying this rare moment of affection. It was Christmas, and that was the time of giving (and lots of hugging). Cas gave them all so much, sacrificing so much for them, and Sam wanted to show him how grateful they were to him. 

“I’m just so glad you’re here. Thank you, Cas. For everything you’ve done for us and Jack.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the angel said into Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam pulled away. Cas nodded before getting up and returning to his room, leaving Sam with his mom and Dean. He wandered over to them. Dean was smirking at him as his approached. He playfully jibed about the hug he’d witnessed from across the room, but when Sam presented him with the Impala, ten minutes later the older Winchester himself had gone around and hugged Sam, Cas, and Jack in sincere gratitude of the Icepala (the name was his idea). Dean couldn’t hide how much the gift meant to him, because sure, when he got the first one so many years he had shrugged it off, but it actually had been a cherished item, and he mourned its lost. This one he would make sure never to lose. Mary got a hug too. Everyone involved in the hugging spree was sworn to secrecy. Dean had a tough guy image to uphold and all. Sam nodded sarcastically because of course, yes, Dean was so very tough for a short guy. Dean howled fury, denying his short stature and would you let that go Sam, you giant moose, I’m not that short! Mary just watched the whole interaction with an expression that clearly read ‘how did I end up having such weird kids’. Cas just shrugged.

Eventually, it was time to sleep, with only minutes left of Christmas. Dean placed the Icepala on the side table, and when the lights went off, its glow gave the room a pale blue hue. Sam settled himself into his bed. Today had been a good day. No Satan, no monsters, no Apocalypse. Just a good ol’ family road trip and a bit of angel magic. Just his kind of Christmas. After years of hating it, he could honestly say it’d become his favourite holiday. He closed his eyes and let the rest of the day fade away as he fell into unconsciousness.

And thus ended the thirteenth, and final day, of Christmas.


End file.
